The Potter Legacy
by Mijan
Summary: This story has been abandoned, for multiple reasons, including the fact that it was my first fic, and not terribly good. I left it posted at the request of those who originally read it. I'm sorry. 5th yr, preOotP, gen.
1. Prologue, Part 1: Foreign Relations

Disclaimer: I am not J.K.Rowling. I did not create Harry Potter, nor any of the other characters in Rowling's books. However, I will respectfully yet shamelessly drag those characters face-first through a thick (and in Harry's case, sometimes painful) plot for your entertainment. I am not making a Knut off of this work, but I am doing it for the pure joy of writing and a desperate need to distract myself while waiting for the 5th book.  
  
Author's Notes and Summary: The search for power has blinded the greedy for thousands of years. As Voldemort began his rise to power, he was certain he would be different. He knew his past, he knew the mistakes of others, and he knew his heritage. Unfortunately for him, he didn't know the heritage of his enemy as well as he would like to have thought... and as they say, what you don't know CAN kill you.  
  
As Harry is to find out, sometimes what you DO know can kill you just as easily. Lucky for Harry, he's got a habit of beating the odds, but how many times can you draw an ace from the same deck of cards?  
  
And so the mystery behind the Potters begins to unravel. The fate they've sealed for Harry, the legacy he has to bear. What could a scrap of parchment, a thousand-year-old cover-up, and a raven named Bram have to do with Harry and the secret behind is miraculous survival?  
  
That... is the Potter Legacy.  
  
Enjoy.  
  
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Prologue: The Heir of the Lion  
  
Part 1: Foreign Relations  
  
It was late fall of 1942. A young man was standing on the doorstep of his parents' house in Godric's Hollow, far from the chaos of the Muggle world. The skies were grey, and the wind whipped his coal-black hair into his hazel eyes. No matter, his hair was always a mess. A drop of rain splashed onto the right lens of his glasses. He sighed, took them off, and wiped them on his robes as he turned and walked back into the house. His mother was sniffling slightly, and his father was putting up a brave front. He forced a jovial laugh, trying to live up to his finest Gryffindor traits having only graduated from Hogwarts three and a half years ago.  
  
"Now mum, you act as though I'm going straight to the front lines. I'll be perfectly fine. I'll come home for holidays whenever I can, you know that." His mother didn't seem convinced.  
  
"You're barely grown and they want to send you to war!" she whimpered. "Fighting dark wizards . . . ooh, why on earth did they have to get involved in this war the Muggles are fighting? The dark wizards cause enough trouble, and now, manipulating Muggles, undermining military efforts. It's too much!"  
  
"I know you're brave, son," his father interjected suddenly, "but don't do anything outrageous. You have a tendency to stick your neck out, taking risks that you don't need to take."  
  
"It's not up to me this time. I'll be working for the American Committee of Magic at their headquarters in Salem. It's up to them what I do, and whatever I do, it's for the good of us all, wizard and Muggle alike."  
  
"Son, you've grown up." The worry in his father's voice was partially replaced with a vibrant sense of pride. "I never thought I'd see the day."  
  
Harold suddenly realized just how old his parents were. They hadn't been young when they'd had him and now, with the stress of the war and their worry over him, their age was showing on their faces.  
  
"I'll be home soon as possible, I promise." He picked up his trunk and walked to the door. The ministry car was pulling up in front of the house. He would receive final instructions at the Ministry of Magic headquarters, and then take a Portkey directly to the Salem Committee of Magic headquarters. The rain began to splash against his glasses again, and he was grateful that the rivulets running from his eyes would hide nicely in the water splashing down from the darkened sky.  
  
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Harold Potter had been in Massachusetts for two months, and had adapted to life there quickly. He had already proven himself invaluable to the ACM's efforts. The ACM was stretched to its limit. There were few trained wizards and even fewer experts in this part of the world, and a tremendous Muggle military and government under their jurisdiction.  
  
The depth to which the dark wizards had involved themselves in this muggle war was phenomenal. Speculation about how far up the military and political ladders these wizards had gotten was immense, and more of it was confirmed every day. Many people were quite certain that the initial inspiration for the mass murders and atrocities in the heart of the Axis powers came directly from dark wizards. Rumor had it that Adolph himself had been a graduate of Durmstrang, and had disguised himself in his bid to begin wiping out unwanted populations directly through the Muggle government. All these things were on people minds, but they were secondary to the immediate struggle. Already, dozens of dark wizards had been uncovered within the American military, and had been apprehended by the Special Wizard's Assignment Taskforce, or SWAT, the very team to which Harold had been assigned.  
  
Those raids were simultaneously thrilling and nerve-racking. Harold found himself amazed by the power of the Muggle technology and intricacy of their security systems. However, none of these systems took magic into account and while this permitted the dark wizards to infiltrate them more easily, it also allowed SWAT to apprehend them with relative ease.  
  
Harold shuddered when he thought back to the team leader's reaction to his first mission. "That was easy!" he had said with a grin. In that case, "easy" had involved breaching four top-secret security checkpoints, identifying three wizards from among a group of upper-ranked military officials, and engaging them in a wand fight. They dodged not only stunning curses but also Unforgivables, and finally managed to stun all three wizards. After resuscitating five members of their own squad, modifying the memories of every person in the building, and erasing all recording equipment, they had managed to get their asses out of there before anything actually went wrong. "Easy" apparently meant that nobody had died. Thus far, all his missions had been easy.  
  
Harold was sitting back in his room at the Headquarters one evening when his team leader knocked on the door and poked his head into the room with a weary grin.  
  
"James! Come in!" Harold got up and pulled a chair around for his boss and surrogate father. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, and obviously preferred to avoid shaving whenever possible.  
  
"Hey Harry. I've got some good news for you." James spun his chair around and straddled it, as was his habit.  
  
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Harold chuckled aloud.  
  
"It just seems to suit you, that's all. You don't mind, do you? I tend to use nicknames with my friends."  
  
"Ok, ok," Harold said with a grin. "So what's the good news?"  
  
"The squad has the week off. A team from the west coast has sent us some backups, and Merlin knows you all need a break. I can't let you go back to Britain. We may still need to call you back at a moment's notice, if something happens. Still," he paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "there's plenty to do. I'd recommend a trip into Boston. There's lots to see there, lots to do. I'd tell you to visit some of the finer points of Salem, but you've been stuck in town here long enough. Besides, you might just meet a lady-friend in the city. That'd do you right."  
  
James's grin had erupted into a face-splitting smirk.  
  
"Oh my." Harold's ears turned a bright shade of magenta, which stood out absurdly against his normally pale complexion. "Is it my imagination, or did my boss just tell me to go find some action?"  
  
James stretched and stood up. "Well," he said, pacing thoughtfully, "you never know who you'll meet, and I just want you to have a good time, that's all. We have too little of that these days, so I just wanted to give you some ideas, so you can spruce yourself up. Be ready to impress some lovely American witches at a moment's notice. Turn on that British charm."  
  
James paused, turned back to Harold and raised an eyebrow. "Does your hair ever lie flat?"  
  
Harold's cheeks suddenly matched his glowing red ears. "Nope."  
  
"Well, some of the ladies are sure to find it charming. You may even start a new fashion."  
  
"Cut that out!" Harold picked up his pillow and chucked it at his boss. James's laugh rang loudly.  
  
"See you later, Harry! You'd better bring back some good stories!"  
  
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Tom Riddle was pacing around the Slytherin common room. He had just received more news about the war from a Slytherin who had graduated the year before, one of the growing number of Tom's followers. He mused to himself about how many people in his house had recognized, feared, and respected his power as early as his second year. Many of them had begun to follow his lead, even those who were several years his senior. This encouraged him further, and now, in his 5th year, his own spy network was spread far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.  
  
"What a fool! What a bloody FOOL!" Riddle swore with a low growl. "Hitler is working WITH the Muggles. He's in contact with filthy Muggles."  
  
"But Lord Voldemort, he is being rather effective." Nott, a second year, peered at him nervously. "Look at how many he has wiped out, and he's gaining power every day. His spies have broken into every Muggle government . . ."  
  
"YOU DARE TO CORRECT ME?" Riddle didn't even have to raise his voice to give the impression of completely overpowering the younger child. "Idiot! He works too closely with the Muggles. They are impressionable, but they are animals. You cannot work with them, you cannot trust them. It's not the way of a proper Wizard. It is only a matter of time before he will fail."  
  
"Then, m-m-my Lord, how will you gain power such as Hitler has done? You will not use muggles?"  
  
"Oh, perhaps we can use them, but not in quite the same manner. Hitler gives them power. Some of them are his right-hand men. That will never happen once I step up. We must defend the purity of Wizard blood. Muggles will never be permitted in such positions of power, even if only as disguised servitude."  
  
Nott looked at his feet, obviously confused. "So, you'll control them, but without their consent. How can that work?"  
  
"Ah, young snake, you are closer to the answer than you think. The ability to control a person's mind lies in being able to enter their mind. I can certainly manipulate a person, control them to a degree, but the person must be willing to allow me into his or her mind." He allowed himself a small smile. "The mere memory of me is enough to control a person. The power of the written word is something which I have come to value. It is a useful skill, but the power I seek runs deeper. Much deeper."  
  
"Like Imperious?"  
  
"Such ignorance. No. It is an ancient power, and much more vast. My search for its source continues."  
  
At this, young Tom Riddle turned his back to Nott, signaling an end to their conversation, and stared into the fireplace. The future was his. All that would come to pass was his to control. His eyes sparked like ice against the fire, and he laughed softly to himself. It was not a pleasant sound.  
  
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That evening found Harold sitting in a small café in downtown Muggle- Boston. Dressed in clean-cut Muggle attire, he fit right in visually, but still felt damned uncomfortable. He sipped at his tea, and looked around the café. What had James been thinking? How could he find a woman just like that? Sure, some female companionship would be nice, and would probably be just the ticket after two months of grueling work, but what chance did he have? He had never been a charmer. He had been sight seeing all day with Robert and Nathan, but they had wanted to see a Muggle motion picture, and he hadn't felt like it. So, there he sat, alone, in a small café, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He shook his head to himself, and began to look back down at his newspaper . . . when something made him look back up.  
  
The most stunning eyes he had ever seen were staring straight at him, as though they could look right into his mind. He felt his heart jump into his throat. On the far side of the café, a dark-haired woman was sitting by herself, but she was looking right at him, smiling softly.  
  
He swallowed, smiled back at her weakly, and forced his heart to slow down. He never quite figured out what made him do it, but he found himself standing up and moving across the room to her table, his cup of tea forgotten. He opened his mouth to ask if he could join her, but before he could speak, she laughed. He flushed a furious shade of pink, already certain that he had done something to embarrass himself.  
  
"Of course you can join me!" she said lightly. His eyes began to widen in surprise. Was it his imagination, or had she just answered the question before he had asked it? Before he could formulate words to respond, she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "A dashing wizard such as yourself has no business sitting by his lonesome on a Friday night."  
  
Harold balked. "H-how did you know?" he asked, lowering himself uneasily into the chair across from her.  
  
"A little birdie told me." She signaled the waitress. "An English tea for the gentleman, two sugars, please, and another coffee for me."  
  
Harold was thoroughly intrigued by this whole exchange, in which he had barely spoken at all, but got the distinct impression that he didn't need to. Whether that was comforting or not was another matter.  
  
"So, what brings you to Boston today?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "I can't believe you're here by yourself."  
  
"I had the day off, and a couple of my co-workers decided to give me the grand tour," Harold began, accepting the small-talk, but still not yet entirely comfortable. There was something unusual about this woman, but he could not quite put his finger on it. "They wanted to go watch a Muggle motion picture, but I wanted some quiet time, so I found this spot. The tea is quite good here."  
  
He stopped, having no idea what else to say. Why couldn't this be easy, like infiltrating the Pentagon? And why did he have the strange feeling that she could read him like an open book?  
  
She smiled at him again, and he couldn't help but to relax somewhat. "You're working here through the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative, aren't you."  
  
He felt his heart skip a beat. That wasn't a question; she knew. "How do you know about that?"  
  
"I work as an Independent Operative for the Upper Council," she explained, straight-faced. "Or, you might say, as a spy."  
  
That was a relief. Of course there was a logical reason for her to recognize him. "Ah, so you've seen my picture and file?"  
  
Her casual confidence ebbed and she actually blushed slightly. "Well, no," she said, barely above a whisper.  
  
"Then how did you know?" Harold was doing his best not to show how confused, and to say the least, frustrated he was.  
  
She sighed. "It's a skill of mine, passed down from my mother. Most people call it a 'mind touch' for lack of better terms. As far back as I know all the witches in my family have it. Sorry if I intruded unwelcome, but, well." She paused. He raised an eyebrow. The light shade of pink that had graced her cheeks suddenly burned to a much richer hue. She leaned forward slightly and whispered across the table.  
  
"I wanted to know who you are because I find you very handsome."  
  
The waitress placed the drinks on the table. Harold didn't even notice. He was too busy trying to keep his lower jaw from hitting the table. He almost let himself forget the fact that this woman could look right into his mind, because his mind was still reeling from the blatant compliment. She was being completely honestly with him; he could see it in her eyes, somehow. He had never experienced such openness from a complete stranger. Now that he had gotten past the initial shock of it all, he found it strangely refreshing, and somewhat.intoxicating.  
  
He took a deep breath. "Would you like to go for a walk?"  
  
Harold left a tip for the waitress, and held up the young woman's coat for her. She smiled and accepted the gesture, then reached up to the coat rack and offered his jacket in return, completely unorthodox, but he liked it. His head was swimming as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders. He had never met a woman quite like this. He didn't even know women like this existed. He opened the café door, pulling a light whorl of snow into the room, and they walked out into the night.  
  
"By the way . . . " he caught her attention, as she took his arm as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
"Yes?" The chill New England wind ruffled her dark curls around her face.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Janice, but please, call me Jan. And you are?"  
  
"Harold," he replied, but he had a suspicion that she already knew.  
  
She smiled softly at him. "I like that. Mind if I call you Harry?"  
  
His laugh rang out across the walkway, echoing off buildings, muted as it traveled through the falling snow. They walked away from the café, the lights from the shops casting shadows away from them. They didn't notice Robert and Nathan watching their progress from across the street, chuckling silently and looking very pleased with themselves.  
  
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"G'morning Harry," James greeted him upon his return to the office the following week. "How did your little vacation go?" He raised his eyebrows and flashed a lopsided grin.  
  
"Well, I did some sightseeing, visited some museums, explored Revolution Alley."  
  
"And the woman you met?" James prodded, with a mischievous glint in his eye.  
  
"Well, I was at this café the first night . . . HEY! How did you know?"  
  
"Hmmm . . . let me think. You didn't come back to your room at headquarters once the entire week, you've got circles under your eyes, you've got a little spring to your step. Besides, Nathan told me all about it."  
  
"Nathan? How did he . . . oh." He'd been set up. Of course, he was also rather pleased with the results, so he couldn't really complain, could he?  
  
"Not to worry, Harry. I know who Jan is; she's a very nice woman, very special, too." He winked at Harold. "Treat her like the goddess she is. Nobody's ever been able to catch her romantic interest before, although not for lack of trying. She's very independent; we were surprised that she took to you like that. The guys are already calling you the ladies' man."  
  
"Oh no," Harold groaned inwardly. Just what he needed; to be the talk of the entire headquarters. However, his grimace softened almost immediately. It was all worth it. No matter what, it was all worth it. They would be meeting again soon. Jan had promised a letter sometime that day.  
  
"Harry? Harry!"  
  
"Huh? What?"  
  
"Snap to!" James was laughing at him. "Yup, you've got it bad! No matter, you have plenty of time for daydreaming later. For now, we've got a mission briefing to attend. We'll be leaving tonight, around 1700h. That's all I know. We've got to get down to the briefing room."  
  
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"This mission will be a bit different than the last ones we've been on."  
  
The SWAT team exchanged nervous glances as Edward Johnson swept into the room and sat down at the head of the table. Johnson, or Big Ed, as the SWAT team affectionately called him, always had something positive to say about each mission before anything else. This statement, while not negative, was not consistent with his usual style.  
  
"We have an unusual piece of intelligence, provided to us by one of our spies. The muggle Secretary of Defense is holding a council meeting tomorrow morning in the Pentagon with various other foreign ministers of defense. There will be delegates from Canada, France, Spain, Russia, and Britain, among others. The report indicates that the Russian delegate is, in fact, a Dark Wizard, and will be using this opportunity to place several high ranking officials under the Imperious Curse."  
  
At this piece of news, a thick undercurrent of whispering broke out. Ed sat back and allowed the news to percolate. He looked over at Harold, who was not speaking, but instead, was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on some unseen object of interest. He almost pitied the young man. His task would be the most difficult and if Ed's assessment of his expression was correct, Harold had already figured out, at least partially, what that task would be. The undercurrent died down and Ed resumed his briefing.  
  
"Our only chance at preventing this catastrophe is to substitute one of our people for one of the delegates. We can't replace the American Secretary of Defense. He has too much background information and his habits are too well known. Nobody here sounds enough like any of the other delegates, except one."  
  
Everybody turned to look at Harold, who still had not moved from the position he had assumed at the start of the briefing, still staring straight ahead. Without blinking, he said softly, "What do I need to do?"  
  
"You will need to Apparate directly into the British delegate's guest room tonight, while he is asleep. Stun him, then send him back here with a Portkey so he won't be discovered. We'll return him at the end of the mission. We'll be sending you with a flask of prepared Polyjuice Potion. You'll need to assume his appearance, and replace him at the council meeting in the morning. You need to confirm whether the Russian delegate is a Dark Wizard or not, and if he is, apprehend him. Cause as little uproar as possible, but take him down at all costs. We'll be ready to come in as backup, but only as a last resort. This is a mission best conducted as a precise, strategic strike. Certainly, you can see why. Do you understand the mission?"  
  
Harold finally looked up; his eyes were clear and steady. He nodded.  
  
"Ok then," Ed continued. "You have the rest of the morning and afternoon to prepare. Get some rest. You'll need it. Report to me with at 1600h. You too, James. The rest of you, report at 1630h. Dismissed."  
  
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Harold paced around his room. He sat down and pretended to read the copy of the Daily Prophet his parents had sent to him. Tossing the paper aside, he stood and began to pace again. He was about to try the newspaper once more when he heard a scratching sound at the window. Looking up, he was simultaneously surprised and relieved to see a raven was perched on the sill outside. It had to be from Jan.  
  
Harold jumped up and opened the window as fast as his shaking fingers allowed. The raven hopped onto his shoulder and held out her leg, to which was attached a small roll of parchment. Untying it, he gently unrolled the note. The message was written in an elegant script.  
  
Dear Harold,  
It's only been a day, and I miss you already. I can tell you're slightly upset over something, and I wanted to know if you're ok. I know about the mission you're going on and I'm guessing that's what has you so nervous. I was the one who spied for the information leading to this mission. I know you'll be ok. You're incredible like that. Would you like to meet for lunch today? I should take you to the Broomshed. It's a lovely little place in Revolution Alley that I don't believe you've visited. Meet me at the entrance to the ACM building at noon. I'll see you there.  
Love Always,  
Jan  
  
For the first time since he had received his mission that morning, Harold's mind was elsewhere, if only momentarily. Still, it was enough to let the tension that had been building in his mind begin to bleed away. He grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and scribbled down a quick reply.  
  
Jan, I'd love to meet you for lunch, but you probably already knew that. I'll meet you at noon.  
Harold  
  
The raven held out his leg expectantly, and Harold swore the bird winked at him as he tied the note to its leg. It immediately took off out the window. As Harold turned back into his room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  
  
"I'm a mess," he said to nobody. "My clothes are a mess, I've got dark circles under my eyes, and my hair is a mess." He tried to flatten his hair with his hands, then reached for the comb.  
  
"You're fighting a loosing battle, dear," the mirror told him in a gentle voice.  
  
At 12:00, Harold found himself on the front stairs of Salem Headquarters. He paced back and forth, still trying to work off the stress from the morning's announcement. He almost jumped when the door opened behind him.  
  
"My, my! You've got your socks in a bind today!" Jan winked at him mischievously.  
  
"No, I mean, well.yeah. I'm just nervous."  
  
"I can understand why," she said, showing absolutely no sign thinking poorly of him for admitting his fears. "It's not every day a person goes on a solo mission. You'll have to rely on yourself, and yourself alone. But then, I would think that would make you feel even more confident."  
  
"Why on earth would you say that?" he asked, bewildered.  
  
"Because I can't think of anybody I would rather rely on than you."  
  
"You have a way of making everything sound good."  
  
"Is there a reason why everything can't be?"  
  
"So, are we going to lunch or not? My stomach is screaming at me."  
  
She laughed and offered her arm. "Hold tight now. We'll Apparate there." With a faint pop, they disappeared from the steps.  
  
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"Harry? Harry! Pay attention. Are you ok?" Big Ed was looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.  
  
"Oh, uh, yes, yes sir. I just had my mind elsewhere."  
  
"Now is not the time to let your mind wander. Do you need some strong coffee?"  
  
"Er, perhaps a cup of tea?"  
  
Ed nodded to James, who stuck his head out of the office door, called the Headquarters' resident house elf, Mimi, and asked her for some tea. She was dressed in a clean mauve toga, probably made of a new woolen blanket. She smiled widely, and squeaked in a thick Boston accent, "Right away, sir. Will Sir be wantin' sugah in his tea?"  
  
James smiled. "Yes, two please."  
  
When James pulled his head back inside, he found Harold listening in rapt attention to Ed's instructions. They were both looking at a diagram of the inside of the Pentagon, with another showing the building in which the delegates were being housed. Tiny dots were moving around the pieces of parchment like ants, each one labeled with a small epithet, such as "Sergeant Major of the Army", "Colonel, Military Intelligence", "civilian technician", and "Secretary of Defense." Harold was fascinated by those maps, and was determined to figure out how to make one himself.  
  
"This is the room where they will be having the meeting. When the meeting starts, we can trick the cameras for you with magic, so you won't have to worry about recording devices. If anything unusual or threatening happens within the meeting room, act immediately of course, but try to see if you can lure the Russian delegate out of the meeting, or catch him in a bathroom. We can shield whatever room you're in. You'll be monitored at all times on the maps we'll keep here. We're linking you to James through a monitoring charm. It doesn't give us much detail, but we'll know if you're in severe pain."  
  
"Oh, that's a lovely thought." Harold's humor was starting to return to its usual sarcastic edge.  
  
"You're welcome," James interrupted with a grin. "Your headache is my headache. Your neck is my pain in the neck."  
  
"Hey, it is good to know I won't be totally alone."  
  
At that moment, Mimi appeared carrying a teacup on a saucer, and a small roll of parchment.  
  
"Sir, the lady outside asked Mimi to give this to you. Here is your tea, Sir! Let Mimi know if you want anything else, Sir!" She squeaked a smile, and vanished with a crack.  
  
"Unroll it, Harry! What's it say?"  
  
Harold turned to the side, unrolled his parchment, and read quietly to himself. The note said:  
  
Dear Harry,  
You're never alone. Always remember that.  
Jan  
  
"What's it say?" James asked again, more emphatically this time.  
  
Harold just smiled, took a sip of his tea, turned back to the other two men and said, "I think I'm going to be just fine."  
  
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Harold Apparated into the dark room which he had studied so carefully on his Living Map. He was met by soft snores and the quiet ticking of a nightstand clock. He walked towards the bed of the sleeping British delegate, who Harold now knew to be Richard Winthorpe. Just as he was reaching for his wand, his foot found a briefcase that had been left of the floor. He fell with a muffled thud, causing the delegate to sit bolt- upright in bed.  
  
"W-w-what?" he stuttered sleepily.  
  
Harold jumped up, aimed his wand directly at Winthorpe. "STUPEFY!" he said as forcefully as he could at a whisper. The spell hit the sleepy man directly in the chest, and he fell softly backwards onto his pillow. Harold got to his feet, shaking slightly. Thirty seconds into the mission, and he had already made a near-fatal mistake. He couldn't dwell on it now.  
  
Grasping a section of the man's hair, he pointed his wand at the roots, and muttered a severing charm. The hair came neatly loose in his hand. He unscrewed the top of the flask of Polyjuice Potion and dropped in the hair. The contents of the flask bubbled slightly as the hairs activated the potion. Harold pulled from his pocket a paperclip which had been turned into a target-specific Portkey, and placed it in Winthorpe's limp hand. The delegate disappeared in a flash, transported safely to Salem Headquarters for his own safety. Harold swirled the flask of Polyjuice Potion, stifling a gagging sensation as the rank odor of overcooked cabbage met his nose. With a grimace, he took a quick swig, and braced himself as the transformation process ran its course. Finally, with a tap of his wand, his robes - which were now quite snug around the middle - became a proper set of muggle nightclothes.  
  
He pulled his Living Maps from the pocket of the pajamas. "Lumos." He shined the light from his wand onto the maps. Nobody was running towards his room. The building was quiet. Phase one was complete. He looked over at the clock, which read 10:30. The alarm was set for 6:00. A quick change to a 3:00 wake-up call gave him three extra hours to read as much of Winthorpe's paperwork as possible. He stole a quick glance in the mirror. Partially bald, skinny with a small potbelly, Richard was as inconspicuous of a public figure as one could imagine. Harold nodded slightly. It was as perfect as he could ask for. With that, he crawled into the bed, and tried to catch some sleep.  
  
At 8:00 the next morning, Harold was ushered to a waiting limousine, complete with police escort, and was driven to the Pentagon. He had been there before, but the other times, he had been there with his entire team. At 9:00, the meeting started. The room was quickly filled with intense yet utterly dry banter and plotting, discussions of battle ships and aircraft, medical supplies and combat support. Harold said no more than he needed to, occupied with his careful observations of the Russian delegate. The man was obviously trying to test the limits of this coalition. He was suggesting very minimalist international cooperation, with each nation contributing its own loosely affiliated efforts. He recommended that the United States not become so deeply involved in European affairs. One plan he proposed involved bargaining with the Axis powers. Harold took very little time deciding that this man needed to be eliminated from this meeting, but he still needed proof that this was a Dark Wizard. His opportunity came soon enough.  
  
The American Secretary of Defense called a recess to the council, and the delegates each stood and went to refresh themselves. Harold found a small, private washroom, and immediately pulled out his map of the Pentagon. The Russian delegate was easy enough to locate. "Demetrius Vorak" was walking down a relatively quiet hallway towards a private washroom. Harold waited until Vorak had entered the washroom and began to follow him, trusting that his team back home had managed to blank out the electronic devices and shield him from prying eyes. He arrived outside the door to the restroom, pulled his wand from his sleeve, and muttered, "Auditus Acclaro." He could hear Vorak speaking in a strained voice.  
  
"Commander, they are determined to continue their course of action. Shall I put them under the Imperious Curse immediately?" A pause. "It shall be done. Heil Hitler!"  
  
Harold suddenly realized what a stupid position he was in. He was standing in an empty hallway, wand in hand. There was only one possible course of action.  
  
The doorknob began to turn.  
  
"Stupify!" Harold cried, but Vorak hadn't been directly behind the door, and the spell ricocheted into the room, harmless.  
  
"Petrificus Totalis!" Harold found himself frozen, but conscious, being pulled into the room.  
  
"So, what have we here? Our little British Muggle is more than he appears." Vorak snatched Harold's wand from his rigid hand. "What is your name, really now? Winthorpe? I'm not so certain." He stuck the extra wand into his breast pocket and turned the other on Harold.  
  
"Finite Incantatum." Harold slouched to the floor. He knew he had to think fast before Vorak did something. He didn't have long to wait. "Not answering me? Crucio!"  
  
Harold thought he was on fire, only he didn't think a person could burn from the inside. He was writhing on the ground, clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, but not making a sound save for the laboured gasps for air. "Finite Incantatum."  
  
"Perhaps you'll be a bit more cooperative now."  
  
He pushed himself part way off the ground. Filled with a sense of pure loathing, Harold did the first thing that came to mind. He spit at the dark wizard. It was not a good decision, and earned him a swift kick to the side. There was a sickening crack, and Harold felt his breathing became difficult. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his ribs. Seconds later, the boot connected with the side of his head. He lay there for a brief moment, dazed, then slowly brought his hand up to his ear. When he pulled it away, it was covered in blood. He looked up at the Dark Wizard.  
  
"You'll cooperate with me, fool. Imperio."  
  
Suddenly, the pain was forgotten. Sensations felt muted, and everything became soft as though seen and heard through a thick, cottony fog. Then he heard it in his mind. "Get up. Walk back to the meeting room. You will agree with me. We will control the Muggles."  
  
Harold wanted to agree. It would be so easy to agree. Why not? It made perfect sense. So simple, so easy . . . so utterly wrong. He looked up at the wizard standing over him, and suddenly his head cleared. Moving faster than he thought possible, he leapt up and, putting all his weight behind the blow, slammed his fist into Vorak's temple. The wizard went flying backwards into the wall and slumped to the ground. Shaking, Harold reached over and retrieved his wand. Then he snatched up Vorak's wand and swiftly snapped it in two. It emitted a small cloud of smoke and a few hissing sparks before Harold tossed the pieces aside. Suddenly, he heard a noise outside the door.  
  
"Alohomora!"  
  
James came bursting in to the room. "Harry!"  
  
Harold looked down at the unconscious wizard, then back to James. He chuckled weakly and said, "That was easy." Then he realized that the room was getting cold and dark. Everything was moving strangely. As he slumped to the ground, James rushed to catch him. He vaguely heard James yelling his name before everything went black.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
"Harry? Harry, c'mon, please. Open your eyes."  
  
Why would I want to do a silly thing like that? I'm asleep, can't you see? I was having the strangest dream too. Something about me as a lion, and there was a bird sitting on my shoulder. I want to finish my dream.  
  
"Harry?" The voice was a bit louder now, slightly frantic.  
  
Ok, ok. I'm opening my eyes.ouch! Bright light, no, I'm keeping them closed, thank you very much.  
  
"Close the curtains! The light is too bright for him."  
  
Harold felt someone shaking his shoulder lightly, and his muscles screamed in protest to the slightest touch. Stop that! It hurts. Can't you just leave me alone? He heard a very faint moan escape from him. Then, he heard another voice, a soft woman's voice.  
  
"Harry? I know you're in there. Wake up."  
  
Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. A pair of dark eyes were peering into his, the face in which they were set was lined with concern. Jan sighed with relief. "Oh thank goodness. Even I was starting to worry."  
  
A wet cloth was removed from his forehead and replaced with a fresh one which sent a trickle of water down his temple. He was grateful; his head was throbbing mercilessly. His still-sore ribs were protesting vehemently with every breath. Without moving his head any more than absolutely necessary, he checked his surroundings. He was back in his room at the ACM's dormitory.  
  
"Wh-what happened?" he croaked.  
  
"What happened?" repeated James incredulously. "What happened! You single- handedly took down the very wizard who turns out to be the ringleader of the group that infiltrated the Russian government, that's all!" He looked at Big Ed, who was looking both very relieved and very proud.  
  
"Not only did you do the IWWC proud, but also your own Ministry of Magic. With the information we gathered from Vorak using Veritaserum, we're going to be able to crack our way through most of the entire northern European network of Dark Wizards." Ed paused. "Harry, you're being called a hero in your own rights."  
  
Harold laughed, which caused his ribs to ache even more. "Ouch. If being a hero hurts this much, leave me out of it."  
  
Everybody broke into laughter at this, and it was at this point that the team's Mediwizard, Arnold, tore into the room.  
  
"You're all riling up my patient? Out now! Shoo!"  
  
"Wait," James interrupted. "Can she stay?" He inclined his head towards Jan.  
  
Arnold looked like he was about to argue, but something in Jan's expression stifled him. "Ok, she can stay. Now the rest of you, out!"  
  
After a series of rushed congratulations and well wishes, the room quickly emptied. Arnold set to work patching broken ribs and doling out remedies for concussion and post-Cruciatus trauma, all the time muttering comments about how crazy it was to send kids on dangerous missions, and something about how terrible is was that the war was destroying the innocence of today's youth. Harold blushed with embarrassment over being referred to as a youth, but Jan squeezed his hand and gave him a smile to let him know that she didn't think of him as a child. Arnold finished quickly, and Harold felt as though he had a new body. He made a move to stand up.  
  
"Oh no you don't, boy! You lie right back down there. You're not going anywhere until tomorrow!"  
  
"But I feel fine!" Harold protested.  
  
"I can watch him," Jan said, but Arnold wouldn't hear of it.  
  
"He's staying here. He needs to let everything settle down. Besides, I can mend bones easily, I can treat magical trauma, but he's also had a concussion, plain and simple. You can only do so much for those. The brain is a delicate thing. I need to check on him every couple of hours tonight. Last thing I need is for this kid to lapse into a coma on my watch. He's delicate right now."  
  
"I AM NOT DELICATE!"  
  
Jan and Arnold both turned to look at Harold in surprise, who gave the distinct impression of smoking at the ears.  
  
"Ok, compromise perhaps. Jan, you can stay here tonight, provided you wake him up every two hours. I'm giving him a mild sleeping potion - no arguments Harry - to help him sleep, but not so strong that you can't wake him up. Notify me immediately if there's a problem. Tomorrow, you can take him wherever you want. He's getting a week off to recover from the mission."  
  
Jan nodded, not wanting to push her luck. Arnold set a bottle of sleeping potion on the table, turned to walk out the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Jan. "Oh, and you let him rest. No monkey-business in here tonight, you hear me?"  
  
Jan's mouth started to open in protest, but Arnold cracked a huge grin, chuckled, and walked out the door closing it softly behind him.  
  
Harold rolled his eyes. Great, he thought. First, the hero's welcome, then the hormonal-teenager treatment. Jan noticed his irritation, and sat down on the bed.  
  
"You were absolutely brilliant, you know."  
  
"How do you know? You weren't there."  
  
She laughed lightly. "I told you, you're never alone, right?" Harold nodded dumbly.  
  
"Well," she continued, "suffice to say for now that I was paying attention to your every movement. You did a wonderful job of throwing off the Imperious Curse, if I do say so myself." She smiled at him knowingly and squeezed his hand. "You were brilliant."  
  
Too tired to dig for more answers, Harold nodded again and returned the smile.  
  
She leaned over and ran her hand through his shock of disorderly black hair. "Your hair's a mess."  
  
Before he could respond, she had tilted up his chin and brought her lips to his. The kiss was long and sweet, and Harold found himself thinking that it ended altogether too soon.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Christmas Eve came quickly, and the holiday did indeed bring Harold home Godric's Hollow. After nearly being hugged to death by his mum, they finally were able to relax around the fireplace with cups of wassail.  
  
"It's really exciting," Harold was telling them. "We brought down an entire set of Dark Wizards within the ranks of the Marine Corps. It's amazing how many Muggles they had under the Imperious Curse. You can imagine how much work the ACM had cut out for them after that!"  
  
"How much did you get to see of that?" his father asked.  
  
"Well, I stunned two of them on that mission, but then I got stunned myself and they only revived me after the rest of it was over."  
  
His mother looked horrified by the thought. "Oh Harold! They didn't!  
  
"Mum, it's fine, really. Nothing like the solo mission I went on." Immediately, Harold knew he'd spoken too soon. His parents dragged the story out of him. His father beamed with pride, but his mother had gone a strangely pale.  
  
"You did well son. Joanne, dear, you see he's fine. He's a strong young man."  
  
"I know, but I like to see my son happy, not in the middle of all this fighting."  
  
Harold cleared his throat in an attempt to change the line of conversation and touched his mother lightly on the arm. "I, uh, do have some happier news, if you'd like. You see, I, er, met this woman, a beautiful witch named Janice who works at the ACM. She and I have been dating for over a month now."  
  
He'd found the right subject. His mother was beaming. "Oh, my dear! Why didn't you tell us? I'm so happy for you! Is she with her family for the holiday? You must bring her to visit!"  
  
His father was shaking his head, but grinning ear to ear. "Congratulations, son. Seems like you've got the old Potter charm."  
  
The conversation relaxed into more pleasant topics made merry by the holiday drinks. The holidays were cheerful, but passed by quickly, and soon Harold was packing his trunk. He was almost as happy to leave. He wanted to see Jan again.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Arduous months went by with little time to rest. Harold spent every free moment possible with Jan, making the most of the time they had together. War was not pretty. When they cleared out the Dark Wizards inhibiting the nuclear weapons development, they battled with their consciences for weeks upon weeks afterwards. They lost some people. Robert, who had been one of Harold's first friends in the States, was hit by a killing curse during a wand-fight. Still, the squad pressed on.  
  
Harold was making quite a name for himself through his actions, willingness to risk himself for his squad, quick thinking, and occasionally brilliant decisions that were sometimes quite reckless. The strength and bravery that had long been associated with the Potter name had not missed Harold, and he seemed to have finally found a niche that suited him. Then, in November of '43, an unexpected letter arrived at Headquarters from the Ministry of Magic.  
  
The squad had been sitting in the lounge in the early evening when a scratching at the window alerted them to the huge eagle owl that had landed there. James opened the window and the owl flew in, landing on the coffee table in front of Harold. Although confused, Harold automatically untied the parchment and unrolled it. As he read, his expression tightened.  
  
"What's going on, Harry?" prodded Nathan. Everyone was looking at him.  
  
"It's a letter from the Ministry of Magic in Britain. They're calling me back for an 'undisclosed' mission."  
  
"WHAT?" roared James. He snatched the letter and read it aloud, while Harold slumped back into his seat, too stunned to argue.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter, Your service to the International Wizarding Wartime Cooperative has been exemplary, and you have demonstrated great honour to Britain. Because of your expertise, we now require your participation in an effort on the European front. More details will be provided upon your arrival at M.O.M. headquarters. You are expected to report in two weeks. A Portkey will be provided. We once again thank you for your service in these difficult times.  
  
Sincerely,  
Lugus Weatherby  
  
Harold was speechless. He didn't want to leave his team, his family, in the middle of this struggle, but as he once told his father, it wasn't up to him. He looked up at James, whose expression begged him to say it wasn't true. Harold swallowed, and said, "I guess I'm leaving."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
That night, Harold couldn't sleep, and the sunrise caught him walking the streets of Salem aimlessly. How could he leave his team? How could he leave Jan? Why now? It was then that a familiar raven swooped down and landed on his shoulder causing him to cry out in alarm.  
  
"Bram! Why did you startle me like that?"  
  
He untied the parchment from its leg, and read the note quickly. He got the feeling that the bird was reading over his shoulder.  
  
Harold,  
Please just come right over. I'm awake, and I don't like you being this upset. We'll talk. Don't worry, it'll be ok.  
Jan  
  
"I guess I'd better go now, huh?"  
  
Bram squawked a reply, and took off again.  
  
A minute later, Harold was in Jan's living room. She threw her arms around him and held him for a long moment. When she pulled back, he could see tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He'd never seen Jan cry before.  
  
"Have a seat. I made you some tea, dear. Please, just talk to me. Tell me everything on your mind. I just want to hear you talk."  
  
Harold showed her the letter and all the worries he'd poured over the night before came spilling out. They held each other and he talked until his tea had gone cold, still untouched. He finally stopped and looked down at her.  
  
"I want you to come with me."  
  
"You know I can't do that. Right now, I'm vital to the ACM's mission. I don't even have a last name right now, did you know that? It was magically erased to make it harder to track me. It's part of my job. My life is my job right now. I can't."  
  
"There's always a way! We'll find a way!" Harold searched her face frantically, but through her tears, her resolve was stone hard. She shook her head.  
  
"We'll just have to make the most of the two weeks we have."  
  
And so they did. They visited historical sites, explored New England, and went sailing on the Charles River together, but mostly they sat and talked. Harold was exempted from missions those two weeks but visited his friends from the squad daily. They took him to the Broomshed one evening as a going-away party. Finally, his last night arrived.  
  
He and Jan sat in front of her fireplace, silent for the first time in two weeks. After a long time of sitting wrapped in each other's arms, Harold pulled back slightly from Jan and turned to face her.  
  
"I wanted to give you something to keep with you until we meet again." His voice wavered slightly. "It's small but I hope you like it."  
  
He pulled out a small, flat box and opened the cover. Inside sat a silver pendant on a chain. The pendant was a crest, designed as a lion's head set into a simple but elegant framework. "Do you like it?"  
  
She looked up at him, then reached into the box and fastened it around her neck. "I love it, almost as much as I love you."  
  
"I'll never forget you, you know. Never. We'll see each other again, soon, after the war."  
  
Jan sighed. "Actually, that's what we need to talk about." She cupped his face in her hands. "You're going to protest, but this is the way it's going to have to be. You will forget about me. You have to."  
  
"No! That's impossible."  
  
She shook her head. "It's not. Tomorrow morning, you'll wake up in your bunk, ready to go back to Britain. Your entire memory of me will seem to you like nothing more than a pleasant dream. Like a dream, it will fade away."  
  
"H-h-how?"  
  
"I told you once why I'm such an important spy. The Mind Touch. I can hear people's thoughts. I can also modify memories. If I wanted to, I could even control people's minds from the inside. These abilities are rare, and are closely monitored by the Magical Government. I never use them outside of the line of work, and as a spy, people can't be attached to me. I'm too dangerous to them. I'd be too dangerous to you, on your mission. I was ordered to do it."  
  
She choked back a sob and continued. "I can't tell you how much it hurts me to do this. I do love you, more than anything, but they need me here. Someday when my tour of duty is over, and I'll never know when that will be until it happens, I'll come find you. If you're single, I'll find you. I promise, then you'll remember everything. I'll never forget you. Never."  
  
Harold couldn't speak. Tears were overflowing his eyes, and his throat was tight. They wrapped their arms around each other, and stared into the fire. Harold finally found his voice.  
  
"I love you, Jan. We'll see each other again. Somehow."  
  
The following July, a girl was born, with a head full of black hair. 


	2. Prologue Part 2: The Living Dream

Heir of the Lion  
  
Prologue Part 2: The Living Dream  
  
Harold stood by himself in front of a decorated altar, but he felt invisible. That was ok, because he was a nervous wreck. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead, his heart was pounding, and he was certain he would pass out soon. He looked out over a sea of faces, and made out the faces of his friends and his parents. What was his father doing there? That didn't make sense, somehow. Before he could ponder this further, everyone looked to the back of the room. He looked up to see the object of their attention, and was transfixed by a gorgeous woman dressed in stunningly elegant white robes slowly walking towards him. She stepped in time to unheard music, but her eyes looked right past his shoulder. He wanted her to see him, but she didn't. He knew he loved her, he was certainly supposed to love her, and she loved him, but why couldn't she see him?  
  
He could feel the panic rising in his throat again, looking frantically over the crowd. Nobody saw him. His father looked at him briefly, but then he wasn't there anymore. His mother was weeping. Everyone else was still looking at the woman in the white robes. Was her name Jan? No. Where did that name come from? Her name is Rachael, he told himself, his fiancé. But why wasn't she looking at him? She was standing next to him now, but she couldn't see him. He looked around, and then back over the crowd. There, towards the back, a pair of eyes were staring straight at him, dark, deep eyes. Those were eyes that could look right through to his soul, and they kept looking. Those eyes saw him, everything about him. He tried to see the face, but there was a thick fog in the room. He called out, even though he didn't know the name he was calling. He heard someone answer, calling his name. "Harry? Harry!"  
  
"Who? What? Huh?" Harold mumbled in his sleepiness. He was still fixed on the dream. Why did he always have those dreams, never quite identical, but it always felt the same. Always, there were those eyes.  
  
"Harold! Wake up! You would be the person to miss his own wedding day by sleeping through it!" Gregory, his best man, was shaking his shoulder. "Rachael has been awake for hours! She can't believe I let you sleep this long."  
  
Harold sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on to his face, watching the room come into focus. "Greg, what time is it?"  
  
"It's nearly 10:00."  
  
"Holy shit!" Harold grabbed his shower robe and made a mad dash towards his bedroom door, crashing headlong into one of the ushers. "Oof! James! You're here! You're ready? Oh my goodness . . . oh my . . . oh no . . . oh dear . . . oh, uh, I'll be right back." He continued his mad dash for the shower, leaving James in the doorway laughing at him.  
  
James looked over at Gregory. "You know, you didn't have to do that."  
  
"Do what?" asked Greg, looking too innocent.  
  
"You know it's only 8:30."  
  
"Yeah, but this way, he won't have time to get cold feet. Plus, it's the only way I can get him out the door without watching him fuss in the mirror for an hour, trying to get his hair to lie flat. You know it's never going to happen."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
A knock on the door of Big Ed's office snapped him out of the daze he had been sitting in. He'd been sitting like that since a letter from Los Angeles's Headquarters had been dropped on his desk. Ed was used to good news. He was used to bad news. Ed wasn't accustomed to news he couldn't define. It all depended on Jan's reaction. "Come in."  
  
"You wanted to see me?" A luminous pair of eyes was peering from around the edge of the door. "What's troubling you?"  
  
"You don't miss a beat, do you?" He forced a quiet laugh, and motioned for her to sit down. "I got a letter from Intelligence on the west coast. Remember those Dark spies we were worried about? They still don't know who you are, but they managed to track you to here."  
  
Jan nodded. She had known this was going to happen for some time. It was inevitable. She could keep running, without a home, using the Salem Headquarters as a base of operations until they managed to break the Dark spy ring, but with her daughter, that was impossible. The nature of her ability to spy had made it possible for her to work from her home. Only three people knew about her daughter. More specifically, only three people remembered her daughter. It was necessary, for their mutual safety. Ed knew, of course, as did the Mediwitch, Camille, who served as midwife during the delivery. Finally, Mimi also knew. She had been relieved, honorably, from her position at Headquarters and had attached her full loyalty to Jan and her daughter, Anna. She had been assigned to assist in caring for the child, and to be a companion, as it was too dangerous to have a witch or wizard doing the job. All those precautions they had taken had, in the long run, been ineffective. It was time to leave.  
  
"How long do we have?" Jan asked without emotion.  
  
"A day, at best." Ed sighed. "We still need you, but your safety, and Anna's, have to come first. Settle amongst muggles, home-train Anna. She'll understand when she's older. She's already such a bright girl."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, which was broken again by Ed. "Do you know where you'll go?"  
  
"Actually, I had an idea, if you're willing to approve it."  
  
"If I can make you happy, you know I will."  
  
"I want to move to England."  
  
This hadn't been unexpected, but England was a nexus of the wizarding world, not exactly the best place to keep a low profile. Ed left this unsaid, choosing to respond with, "You want to find him, don't you?"  
  
"Even if I don't find him, or more likely, if I can't connect with him, if something happens to me, Mimi will find Harold, and bring Anna to him. She'll at least have a family there." Jan paused, and the tears that had been threatening to break her emotional shell finally spilled over. Ed walked over to her, and put an arm around her shoulders, holding her silently as her tears splashed onto his robes. Here was the strongest person he'd ever met, and she was sobbing unabashedly. What could he say? Now, she was being asked to uproot from what little family she had.  
  
She stopped crying quickly, drying her face and resuming her normal composure. "I'll say my goodbyes, then I'll break all contacts." She looked at him imploringly. "What about you?"  
  
Ed's face softened into a sympathetic smile. "You'll still have me, but I can't know exactly where you are. Have Bram find me if you need to make contact, but until this crisis is over, you can't come back. You always know it may not be just revenge they seek."  
  
Jan nodded, and stood. There was no point in prolonging this any more. She wrapped her arms around him, a trace of a tear leaking from the corner of her eye. "I'll miss you."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
The next morning, a weary woman, scared young girl, and a house-elf arrived in Diagon Alley. Their luggage had been shrunken and charmed for lightness, and was tucked into their robes. They had a lot to do that day. First, they had to stop at Gringotts to exchange some gold for Muggle money. She also needed some basic wizarding provisions for starting up a proper home, but everything she bought would have to blend into Muggle surroundings. Finally, Anna needed a wand. She was only 8, her 9th birthday coming up in two weeks, but if she was to be home-trained, they needed the wand sooner rather than later. They went about their errands, generally left to themselves by strangers. They finally sat down at lunch time to refresh themselves.  
  
Jan looked across the table at her daughter. She could always see Harold's face in her daughter's. The way her nose turned, the quirk in her eyebrows, the wavy, black hair that never stayed put were all so reminiscent of the father she had never known. "Mommy, are you ok?"  
  
"Oh, yes dear, yes I am. Mommy was just thinking about someone she hasn't seen for a long time." That would satisfy a normal eight-year-old girl, but not Anna.  
  
"You're thinking about Daddy, aren't you?"  
  
Jan smiled and sighed. What do you do with a daughter who can read your mind? You tell her the absolute truth, just as she always had.  
  
"Yes, I am sweetheart. But now, it's time for dessert! Ice cream perhaps? And after that, I've got a special surprise that even you don't know about yet!"  
  
"What's that mom?"  
  
"You're getting your wand today."  
  
Anna's face broadened into an unstoppable smile, and her thoughts drifted off to happier things. Jan picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet someone had left and started skimming the headlines. She was just starting to relax under the midday sun when her breath caught in her throat. She knew it could happen. She had told herself it probably would. Still, she had never quite wanted to believe it. She read the headline again.  
  
"Harold Potter Weds Rachael Browne"  
  
Jan looked down at the caption below. There were those familiar glasses, that same unruly hair, that lopsided grin.there was Harold. He looked happy. Everyone around him was jumping, laughing, celebrating. His new wife, Rachael, looked absolutely radiant. Still, Harold kept looking off blankly every do often. Most people would guess it for wedding-day jitters, but Jan knew better.  
  
She tucked the newspaper into her robes, and stood up. "Are you ready to get your wand, dear?"  
  
They strolled up to Olivander's Wand shop, arriving just as Anna was finishing her ice cream cone. "Wait a second young lady!" Anna turned to her mother with a hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression. "Hands."  
  
Anna held out her hands, palms up, and Jan tapped them with her wand. "You will not be getting your sticky ice cream mess all over the wand shop. Now, this is a very adult place. Most people only get their wands when they turn 11. I want you to be on your best behavior. You understand me?"  
  
Anna nodded, and Jan smiled at her daughter. "Getting your wand is one of the most important events in a witch's or wizard's life. Plus, it's a lot of fun. Ready?" Jan took her daughter's hand, and together they walked into Olivander's.  
  
"Hello? Hello.ACK!" Jan spun around has she heard a slight crash down one of the isles. "Are you ok?" she called out.  
  
"Oh yes, quite alright, quite certainly." A strange man came stumbling out of the isle, carrying an armload of long, thin boxes. His hair was lightly peppered grey and seemed to grow in every direction at once. Eccentric wasn't even close to describing how peculiar this man was, but it was obvious to Jan that he was a perfectly suited individual to the task of working with wands. "Ah, the young lady is ready for her first wand, is she? Good day, Anna! My, this is unique. Which arm is your wand arm?"  
  
Anna looked utterly confused, but Jan spoke up quickly. "Right arm, sir."  
  
"Good, good. Must get her measurements." He pulled out a measuring tape and started measuring Anna's hand, then her arm, then he walked away and the tape kept right on taking measurements. Anna just stood there, speechless. Mr. Olivander came bustling back with a box. "Maple and Dragon Heartstring. Eight inches." He put the wand in her hand, and immediately removed it. "No, no. That won't do. Let's see here. Aha! Ash and Phoenix Feather, 11 ½ inches. No, no, not at all."  
  
The pattern continued for quite some time. Jan suspected that Mr. Olivander would become irritated with the growing pile of unmatched wands, but he seemed to be more jubilant than when he had started. Finally, after "Rowan and Phoenix Feather, 9 ¼ inches," Mr. Olivander stopped and looked at Jan. "My dear, may I ask to see your wand for a moment?"  
  
Jan reached into the inner pocket of her robes and pulled out her wand. She handed it to Mr. Olivander, who examined it with a look of great admiration on his face. "My, my. This is a splendid wand. Beautiful workmanship, 10 ½ inches, solid mahogany. . .but what's this? Raven feather, is it? And naturally, not just any raven."  
  
He handed back Jan's wand, and disappeared to the far corner of the shop. He returned a moment later carrying a very dusty box. He opened it, and pulled out the wand. "Beech and Raven Feather. 12 ½ inches. Unless I miss my guess . . ." He placed the wand in Anna's outstretched hand. A warm glow formed around the wand and the girl's hand. A stream of light blue sparks spurted from the tip of the wand. Anna stared at the wand with a look of utter shock. Then her face slowly spread into a smile. She looked up at her mother. "Can I keep it?"  
  
Jan laughed. "After all that, I certainly hope so!" Then she turned to Mr. Olivander. "If you don't mind my asking, what's so peculiar about that wand? And mine, for that matter?"  
  
Olivander motioned for then to sit on a couple of stools. "Most ravens are simply larger crows, not particularly special at all. Then, a very long time ago, as legend has it, a particularly intelligent raven became enamored of a phoenix. Since then, there have been a group of ravens that cross that line between common animals and magical beasts. Native Americans have known this for centuries, and a few others have noticed something unusual about certain ravens, but most wizards are totally unaware. That's where all the lore surrounding ravens and magic comes from. You, my dear," he looked directly at Anna, and she tried not to flinch, "have a wand with a core from just such a raven, like your mother's. It's not always clear why a particular wand chooses a witch or wizard, but it is quite clear that you are a very unique young lady."  
  
They emerged from the wand shop to meet Mimi, who had picked up some simple potions ingredients that Jan liked to keep on hand, and set a Portkey to take them to Newmarket. She had selected a site on the eastern edge of the town. The Portkey deposited them out of sight at 140 Centre Drive. Mimi immediately began squeaking about how many beautiful ways she could fix up the place. Jan looked at the cottage, and then down at Anna, who was clutching her hand tightly. She squeezed back, and said, "Welcome home, dear."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Harold untied his shoes and sat down in front of the fireplace. Rachael was fixing them both some tea in the kitchen of their new house. Their house, together, it was theirs. He sighed. He was glad the wedding was over, and surprisingly, he was glad the honeymoon was over too. He wanted to be at home, to relax, and to be comfortable for a change. He had courted Rachael for three wonderful years, and his mother had been ecstatic when they had gotten engaged. After his father had died, his mother had wanted nothing more than to be certain her only child was happy. He missed his father, but he knew his father was proud of him. He'd completed training as an Auror before his father had passed on, and since then, had been sent on a wide variety of missions based on his special expertise. If he never worked again, he would be comfortable for the rest of his life. Comfort . . . yes, he had comfort, for the first time ever. He laid his head back against the couch cushions, and closed his eyes.  
  
He was walking through a small house. It was strangely familiar, not in the appearance, but there was an oddly familiar feeling in the air. He knew a magical family lived there, but it looked very much like a Muggle residence. He looked into a small bedroom. There were a few toys scattered on the floor. He turned around and walked towards what he thought was the exit. He moved to open the door, and realized he had very large, tawny paws, not hands. He shook his head, and shaggy golden fur whipped into his eyes. Strange. The door opened, and he stepped onto the front stoop. There was a young girl in the yard with black hair and glasses. My god, she looked familiar. He felt something touch his shoulder. There was a raven perched there. It looked at him quizzically, and then it was gone. He heard a noise behind him, and turned abruptly to see two dark, luminous eyes looking deep into his. He couldn't see the face, but those eyes . . . always those eyes. He heard a voice say his name, softly. "Harry? Harry. . ."  
  
"Harold?" He opened his eyes, and Rachael was standing there, holding out a cup of tea. "Are you going to fall asleep that easily tonight?"  
  
Harold blushed. "Did you call me Harry or Harold?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I heard someone call my name, but the voice called me Harry. Nobody but the people I worked with in Salem called me that." He paused. "I miss it, I suppose."  
  
"You were probably dreaming. If you like the nickname 'Harry' so much, why didn't you tell me?"  
  
He laughed. "I figured it was just silly."  
  
"Aha. Well, I'll come up with a few nicknames for you, and let's see how you respond, shall we?"  
  
Harold smiled, but his mind was still caught by that dream. He remembered a raven, and he had been a lion. And then, of course, there were those eyes. This time, though, he remembered a little girl. There was something familiar about her, but the harder he tried to remember, the more details slipped out of his memory like sand in an hourglass.  
  
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A/N: If you have questions, concerns, or anything, and want for me to reply, please leave me a review with an e-mail address, OR simple e-mail me at Jedi_Mijan@yahoo.com. I reply to all e-mails. And please, DO leave a review! 


	3. Prologue Part 3: The Ties That Bind

Prologue: The Heir of the Lion  
  
Part 3: The Ties That Bind  
Like sand in an hourglass, minutes follow seconds, hours follow minutes, days follow hours, and years slip away. Memories fade and details are smoothed over by the winds of time. It's amazing how children never seem to notice. It's all so simple when you're a child. The world is your backyard, and the evils beyond the fence don't exist. Jan sat on the back porch watching the little girl in the yard, bent over, diligently watching some insect on the ground. Her thick brown hair was tied into a ponytail, and was so dark it could have been mistaken for black in poor light. That girl doesn't miss a thing. She's a child of nature, Jan thought, just like her mother. Jan turned her head and looked at Anna lovingly, who was sitting nestled against her husband, Donald. Oh yes, so much like her mother was as a child. A proper little witch, always fascinated by the details of nature, isn't she?  
  
"Holly? Are you going to come show grandma what you found?" Jan called out to the child.  
  
Holly looked over her shoulder, giggled, picked up something, and trotted over to Jan, her feet kicking through a thick carpet of autumn leaves. "See grandma? It likes me!" She held out a garden snake.  
  
"Holly!" Don yelped in surprise. "Put that thing down! It could bite you!"  
  
"But Daddy, why would she bite me? She's my friend! You don't like her, do you, Daddy?"  
  
"Really, Don," admonished Anna. "She's got quite the way with animals. She's fine. Let her be."  
  
Donald looked at his wife helplessly. "She comes home with buckets of frogs and toads, and she's only 5 years old! My daughter comes trotting up to me carrying a snake, and I'm supposed to be happy about that? You never warned me about this when we got married." His face softened. "I guess it's the surprises like this that make me love you so much. Are you sure it's not going to hurt her?"  
  
"Donald, if I thought that thing was going to hurt my granddaughter, I would have blasted it out of her hand by now," Jan said in a voice that left no room for discussion.  
  
"I'd have figured that being married to a witch for seven years, I wouldn't be surprised by anything by now."  
  
"Ah, my dear, surprises are the spice of life, don't you know?" Anna looked extremely amused by her husband's loss for words. "Ah! Mail's here!"  
  
Bram swept towards the porch, dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet at Jan's feet, and landed softly on her shoulder. She clacked her beak and bobbed her head in greetings, then turned her head towards Donald and made a noise Jan swore was a raspberry. Jan chuckled to herself and reached for the paper. Donald had started to ask if the bird just did what he thought it had done, but Jan silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Yes, Bram just teased you. She has quite the sense of humor, doesn't she? Now, speaking of surprises, let's see what we have here."  
  
She unfolded the paper, and started skimming the headlines. Holly had no interest in any of that, so she went back towards the trees and began looking for more interesting creatures. "Hmmm," Jan mused over the paper. "Death Eater captured. That's always good news. What else? New intern, Rita Skeeter hired. This girl looks like trouble, I don't trust her eyes. OH MY!!!"  
  
"What is it, mom?" Anna leaned over to get a better look, and began reading the article aloud.  
  
"James and Lily Potter proudly announce the arrival of their first son, Harry James Potter, born 2:00 pm, July 31st. He weighed 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and had a full head of hair at birth. Harry was named in honour of his grandfather, Harold Potter, who died just over a year ago. The proud parents have named Sirius Black as Harry's godfather. Black told the Daily Prophet reporter that he's certain Harry will match his namesake's accomplishments, and someday receive the Order of Merlin, 1st Class. Lily then reminded Black that Harry has to learn to walk first."  
  
Jan and Anna were beaming, but Don broke the silence first. "Who?"  
  
Anna laughed at him. "I'll explain later, dear."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
That evening, Donald and Anna had gone to bed, and Jan was sitting in front of the fireplace, relaxing after the day's visit with her family. She knew she wouldn't be able to spend much more time with them. A scratching at the window grabbed her attention, and she got up to let Bram into the room. He bird flew past her and perched on the back of the couch, clacking at her, showing immense irritation.  
  
"Whoa, slow down, dear!" Jan admonished. "Now please, what seems to be the matter?"  
  
Bram looked at her sadly, and sung a note that was impossible for any normal raven. She let the note quiver in the air for a moment, and then hopped down to the table by the armchair, picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet she had delivered earlier, and brought it to Jan. Jan sat down slowly and held the paper out at arms length.  
  
"Yes, I should have looked more closely, especially with what the Dark Wizards have been doing. I felt it coming, but here with my family, you know it's so easy to forget. The guards I set up around this house, the spells and the enchantments. It's better protected then my own house."  
  
Bram trilled sadly again, and turned the pages of the paper with her bill. The paper fell open to a familiar headline: "Death Eater Captured"  
  
"Yesterday, expert Auror Alastor Moody captured a Death Eater under unusual circumstances. Unlike most Death Eaters, this man was working alone. Under Veritaserum, he confessed to have been a junior operative of the Dark Forces working during the Second Muggle War, and is now working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He said his mission for He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named is a spy mission, seeking a witch or wizard who spied in the United States during Hitler's power. He did not know why the Dark Lord seeks this person, nor who he or she is. Ministry of Magic Intelligence experts have contacted the American Committee of Magic, but there is no record of such a person. The Death Eater has been sentenced to life in Azkaban. The Ministry of Magic is now searching for any evidence supporting the Death Eater's statements."  
  
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"The fool got caught. He failed me. Do you understand why this displeases me so much?" Voldemort stood in front of a small group of his most faithful Death Eaters, all of whom had their faces pressed to the ground at his feet. They knew not to speak until the Dark Lord specifically permitted it. "Malfoy, explain to us all why this displeases me so."  
  
Without raising his face from the ground, Malfoy replied. "My Lord, this displeases you because your search for the spy might be compromised."  
  
"And do any of you know why this spy is so important?" the Dark Lord's voice was low and dangerous. "Any of you, speak."  
  
It was Nott who finally replied, and not a moment too soon. "This is the spy you believe to have brought about Hitler's downfall, My Lord. This spy, if he is still alive, could pose a threat to you."  
  
"You are only partly correct. Yes, I believe this spy had a hand in Hitler's downfall." Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "But Hitler was a fool who let the muggles get too close. Nott," Voldemort kicked his follower lightly, "Do you honestly believe me to be so weak that a single spy could stop my eventual conquest of the Wizarding world?"  
  
"N-n-no! No my Lord, never, I. . ."  
  
"Silence!" spat Voldemort. "I will not have a Death Eater whimpering like a cornered Muggle. Crucio!"  
  
There was silence in the room, aside from Nott's tormented screams. Finally, he turned his wand away, leaving Nott gasping for breath. "Pitiful. Next time, do not whimper. Nott, think, if you are capable of such action. Why was this spy the downfall of who was once the most influential Dark Wizard in the world?" He paused, but answered himself. "Because he carried a rare magical ability that allowed him not only to infiltrate the depths of Hitler's influence, but also the ability to alter a person's thoughts, directly. It is stronger than the Imperio Curse. More subtle. It is that power I desire. I will have it. You will all continue this search. Do not fail me. Now, get out of my sight."  
  
The Death Eaters backed out of the room, their faces still turned sharply towards the floor. Voldemort sat back in his chair, facing the fireplace. He considered his position. He had just sent one of his best operatives to the United States, searching for records that might match the time during which this spy was active. It was only a matter of time until he would be found.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
The clattering of pots and pans woke Jan from a restless slumber. She opened her eyes to see a bright pair of brown irises mirroring her own. She smiled and braced for the inevitable impact, and immediately received a lapful of rambunctious five-year-old witch.  
  
"Grandma's awake! Good morning!" Holly flung her arms tightly around Jan.  
  
"Oof! My goodness, you're getting too big for this!" she laughed, picking up the child as she stood. "Now, I believe it's time for breakfast.!"  
  
She walked into the kitchen and sniffed the air. "You made me coffee! Oh my dear, you're wonderful. Down you go, Holly. Good morning Anna, Donald."  
  
After a round of good-morning greetings, they sat down to a hearty breakfast, with Jan complaining that she could never get a proper cup of coffee in England. They were laughing and talking, but Jan couldn't shake the chill that kept running the length of her spine. Anna noticed it, but held her thoughts. Anything that could bother her mother this much wasn't something that should be discussed over breakfast. After the dishes had been cleared, Don had left for work, and Holly had gone outside in search of more frogs, Jan and Anna slowly made their way to the back porch, carrying fresh cups of coffee.  
  
"Mom," Anna began softly. "What's going on?"  
  
Jan looked through the open window to the living room and pulled out her wand. "Accio newspaper." Her copy of the Daily Prophet flew smoothly into her outstretched hand. She opened the paper wordlessly, and held it out for her daughter. Anna took the paper, her hand trembling almost undetectably. Her eyes traveled back and forth over the page. She read the article once, then once again. Finally, she looked up with tears in her eyes. "Oh mom."  
  
The paper fell to the floor, and mother embraced daughter as if for the last time. For all they knew, it might be. They pulled apart, and Anna's eyes were dry again.  
  
"Anna, you have to stay here. Your house is protected. Besides, they're not after you. They want me. They don't know about you. I can lead them away. I don't know how they're going to track me, but if they can, they won't find me here. I can't stay."  
  
"Where will you go? What will I tell Holly?"  
  
Jan sighed. "Tell her the truth, as I always told you. She's strong. So are you, just like your mother. I'll be fine."  
  
"Anything else I should know?" Anna asked, finally accepting that she couldn't change her mother's course of action.  
  
"I'm leaving Bram with you. She can take care of herself, but she'll also take care of you. Keep Holly hidden. She's safe within the bounds of this property. Your secret will always be safe with me."  
  
Anna's eyes showed their understanding of this statement. At this moment, Holly thundered up the stairs of the back porch, tears in her eyes. "Grandma, why are you leaving? Don't go, I'll miss you."  
  
"Oh, dear Holly-berries. You know I'm not leaving you forever. I'll always be right here," Jan said, tapping the teary-eyed child on the middle of her forehead. "And I have a job for you. I want you to keep something for me. It's very special to me, and I want you to keep it safe. Can you do that?"  
  
Holly nodded and wiped her eyes. Jan reached up towards the back of her neck and undid the clasp of a fine silver chain. She lifted the necklace up and over her head and held it out for Holly to see. "This is a present I got from your grandfather, a long time ago. He gave it to me the last time I saw him before he went off to fight the Dark Wizards. It's very special to me, and I want you to have it."  
  
She draped the necklace over Holly's head and hooked the clasp in the back. The girl reached up and held the pendant in front of her face where she could see it. Her small hands traced the delicate sculpting of the lion's head, the simple but elegant framework. She looked up, tears threatening to overflow her deep brown eyes, but she took a deep breath, blinked, and said, "Thank you, grandma. I'll keep it safe for you."  
  
"I know you will dear. I know you will."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Severus Snape was in a foul mood. He would have screamed in frustration had he not been certain the noise would alert the entire nighttime population of Salem Headquarters. He settled for deepening his scowl. He had spent a over half a year scouring every center of the American Magical Government, searching for anything unusual, any record of a spy who served during Hitler's downfall. Thus far, he had met with one dead end after another. He put down yet another sheaf of parchments and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Lord Voldemort would not be pleased if he did not send a report soon. Bad news or no news, the results would be equally painful.  
  
He reached for yet another file, resettled himself, and opened the cover page. As he read the name on the file, his eyes widened. In bold lettering was written a name he would never had expected to see.  
  
HAROLD L. POTTER  
  
What on earth was going on here? Snape began scanning page after page, report after report. The mission dates, the time of service, the date of his return to Britain; they all coincided with the spy's most important activities. Snape's mind was spinning. Could Potter be the spy? Was this why he received the Order of Merlin at such a young age? Snape almost jumped out of his chair in relief at such a discovery when he remembered a very important detail. Harold Potter was dead. His shoulders slumped. He had no choice. He would have to report this discovery to his master immediately.  
  
Voldemort was pacing his study when the crumbling embers in his fireplace suddenly flared up. He turned to see the face of his most dutiful spy, staring subserviently at his carpet.  
  
"Ah, Snape. A report at last, I trust? You have been working a long time, so I will assume a fruitful yield of information." The Dark Lord's voice was deceptively conversational.  
  
"My Lord," Snape began without raising his eyes. "I have discovered an unusual record in the archives of Salem Headquarters. It appears that Harold Potter, the father of James Potter, was working in the United States during the war. All of his missions coincide with the few known activities of the spy, as well as his return to Britain. In addition, he was noted to be highly successful in solo missions, a common trait for a spy."  
  
Voldemort's reptilian face contorted into something vaguely resembling a grin. "This is indeed good news. You have done well. Is there anything else you wish to report or ask?"  
  
Snape visibly blanched. "My Lord, Harold Potter has been dead for well over a year. Will there still be some fruits to this search?"  
  
"You ask intelligent questions, and you shall receive an answer." Voldemort began pacing as he spoke, and while his back was turned, Snape breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. "Most rare magical gifts are passed on, either to children or through the generations to an heir. This particular trait should be no different. One way or another, the power of true mind control will be mine."  
  
He paused, and turned back towards the fireplace, his eyes glowing a ghastly shade of red. "You will return to me and lead a raid on Harold Potter's old house. Do whatever you want with his widow, but bring back any writings, unusual magical objects, and oddities you find. Then, we shall turn our attention to his heir. I will have the Potters."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
It was late March, and although landscape was beginning to shed the thick icy mantle of winter, the magical community was frozen by the raw bitterness of fear. Death Eaters had been wreaking havoc across the community, and most people cowered in their homes, praying they would not be the next target. Rachael Potter sat back in her rocking chair with a cup of tea and wrapped a shawl around her shoulder. She had spent a long day visiting her son, daughter-in-law, and new grandchild. Oh my, Harry was growing up so fast. She hoped, wistfully, that by some gift of fate, Harry would not have to live his life in a world ruled by fear. She sipped her tea and smiled into the warm glow of her fireplace. Quiet evenings like this were when she missed Harold the most. She closed her eyes, and could almost let herself believe she was still with her. Every evening, he'd come home from the Ministry, knocking at the door because he knew she liked to open it for him.  
  
She was shaken from her thoughts by a noise at the front door. Her heart jumped into her throat. She pulled her wand from the pocket of her robe, stood slowly, and moved silently into the entryway. With the force of a cannon, the door blasted inwards, showering the front hall with splinters, paint chips, and plaster.  
  
Six robed figures filed rapidly through the hole that had once been the front door. Snape's voice emerged from the last figure. "You know your orders. Search the house quickly and return." He looked around. "Where's the old woman?"  
  
"She's here," Malfoy's voice responded as his darkly shrouded shape pulled the door aside from where it had landed. "I did quite a fine job with this door. The impact killed the old wench."  
  
Snape walked up behind Malfoy and looked down at the woman's limp form strewn across the floor, her neck bent at an odd angle. He nodded, and inclined his head, indicating to Malfoy to continue the mission.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the old Potter house was burning in the night, as the Dark Mark drifted in the sky above it.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
James Potter wasn't upset. He wasn't frantic. He was so far beyond those states of existence that he had lost all sense of emotion. Lily was sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth with a tight expression on her face, holding Harry close. He was sleeping, completely unaware of the events taking place around him. James looked at his son, and a wave of pain gripped his chest. His mother's house had been attacked, but it must have also been searched. His father's old Muggle safe had been taken from the building before it had burned. The Death Eaters hadn't just attacked a random house. They were looking for something, and they were going to come after him and his family next. How could he protect his son? There had to be an answer. There had to be something.  
  
The doorknob clicked and the head of the Magical Law Enforcement department strode in and settled himself behind his desk.  
  
"Mr. Potter, I have some difficult news for you. You may want to sit down." He indicated the chair next to Lily's. James sat without really noticing the motion. The wizard continued. "The Ministry believes your family may be targeted by Voldemort because of your father. On two separate occasions, Death Eaters have been captured who have confessed to have been searching for a spy who had worked in the United States during the Second Muggle War. We think they may suspect your father was involved."  
  
James started to object, stammering slightly over words he couldn't formulate. Lily reached over and took his hand, her presence reassuring him. Harry turned and cooed softly in his sleep, and James nodded, looking back at the Ministry wizard.  
  
"At any rate, we wish to offer you refuge at the Ministry until another option can be arranged. We can't stop you from going home, but for your safety, we recommend that you accept our offer. We can send for your essential belongings for now."  
  
Lily spoke first. "We're very grateful for your offer, and we'll accept, on one condition." The wizard nodded, and she continued. "You help us find a way to go back to our home as soon as possible."  
  
"Of course we wish nothing more than for you to continue your lives normally, and we'll do. . ."  
  
"Everything in your power," James interrupted. "We know, but that's not good enough. They're not going to stop until they actually find us, or until You-Know-Who is dead. We have no idea how long that will take. I'm not going to make my family live their lives running in fear." He stood abruptly. "Contact Dumbledore. Don't ask questions, just do it."  
  
"James, why?" Lily looked at him with utmost confusion.  
  
"Because if anyone can figure it out, he can."  
  
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"May I offer you a lemon drop, James?" Dumbledore's voice was light, but his eyes were wrinkled in concern.  
  
"No, but thank you sir."  
  
They were seated in Dumbledore's office, and for the first time since the attack on his parents' house, James almost felt safe. He had been in that office so many times while he was at Hogwarts, usually for some sort of mischief making. His memories of the Marauders almost coaxed a smile to his face. He briefly wondered what happened to the Marauder's Map after Filch had pinched it. His father had shown him how to make it, and it had been his special contribution to the band of mischief makers. His father. James's thoughts turned grey again. Thank goodness his father had never known what had happened to his mum. Now, he wanted to know, what was going to happen to this generation of Potters?  
  
"Now, what are we going to do with the three of you?" Dumbledore asked, peering over his steepled fingers. James marveled to himself how Dumbledore always seemed to know what he was thinking. The bearded wizard answered himself. "You're going to stay right here for now. I happen to have a suite in the north tower that used to belong to a certain professor, but was vacated when he moved into the Headmaster's rooms. I'll have the house-elves spruce it up immediately."  
  
Lily's bright green eyes were rimmed with tears. James was about to ask her what was wrong when she burst out, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore! Thank you so much!"  
  
Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a tiny giggle. Immediately, the twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes. "Now, who have we here?"  
  
Lily let out a small laugh and lifted Harry for Dumbledore to see. Dumbledore stood, moved around his desk, and gently picked up Harry. Harry was looking around, his big eyes taking in everything. Suddenly, he pointed and squealed.  
  
"Oh, so you like my phoenix, Harry?" Dumbledore carried him over to where Fawkes was perched. "His name is Fawkes. Would you like to say hi?"  
  
Harry was already reaching towards the stunning bird as far as his tiny baby hands could go. He giggled. "Bird!"  
  
Lily and James were on their feet in a heartbeat, Lily exclaiming loudly, "Did he just say what I think he said?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
James grinned broadly. "My son just said his first word."  
  
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Most of the Death Eaters preferred to keep their time in Voldemort's presence to a bare minimum. Today, the inner circle answered their summons in utmost trepidation. They knew that it was best left unsaid, but an unspoken knowledge passed between them. The Dark Lord had made a mistake. In his haste to go after the easy target, Harold Potter's old house, he had alerted James and Lily, sending them into hiding. Although nobody knew for certain, they were fairly positive that the Potters were hidden at Hogwarts, the one place in Britain Voldemort could not yet penetrate.  
  
When the circle was complete, Voldemort spoke. His voice was not loud, but it crackled with an energy that paralyzed the Death Eaters with fear. "Do not, by any means, assume that this minor setback is going to damage our eventual success. The Potters are not so far out of my grasp. They have weaknesses, and we shall exploit them. Do you know what those weaknesses are? Malfoy?"  
  
Malfoy pulled the first obvious answer from his mind. "Fear, my Lord?"  
  
"Ah, but that is nothing unusual. Every person alive has fear." Voldemort spun around swiftly, his wand aimed directly at Malfoy's heart. Malfoy visibly staggered. "Wouldn't you say so, Malfoy?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord," he choked.  
  
Voldemort turned, his eyes glowing a dangerous red. "Perhaps my question can best be answered by Pettigrew."  
  
A frightened squeak issued from a smallish form with its hood pulled low over the face.  
  
"Wormtail, step forward. That's a good rat. Now, listen well. You have known the Potters since you were children. What would you say is their weakness?"  
  
"I-I-I, uh, my Lord, I don't know."  
  
"Oh come now, Wormtail. Think quickly, before I decide to assist your mental agility."  
  
Pettigrew hesitated, and then spoke in a barely audible squeak. "My Lord, the trust people too much."  
  
"Ah Wormtail, there is hope for you yet. Very little, but there is hope. For now, you are our most direct route to the Potters. Your mission is to solidify their trust, and somehow bring them to me. Don't ask me how yet. Observe. Influence their actions. Learn to use that puny rodent-like brain. Report back with everything you learn. Now, all of you, go."  
  
The ring of dark-robed Death Eaters bowed deeply, and Disapparated.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Anna felt the worry and anguish embedded in her half-brother's mind. It kept her awake at night sometimes, but there was nothing she could do. They were safe for now, but how long could that possibly last? Donald had gone to bed hours ago, but Anna had returned to the sitting room for a cup of tea and to try to calm her mind. She had considered a sleeping potion from her supplies, but tonight, she felt more inclined to let the insomnia play itself out. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift to where James laid tossing and turning next to his wife. His dreams were tense, filled with dark images, flashes of his mother's face, the Dark Mark floating over her house, images of Lily and Harry dead at the hands of Death Eaters. In his dream, he roared, and it was the deep-throated roar of a lion, tinged by anguish beyond words. Anna sighed, tears beginning to sting at the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath and reached out, letting her thoughts flow over James's tormented mind like a cool river over parched earth. She felt his dreams quiet and he relaxed into a deeper sleep.  
  
There wasn't much that could pull Anna away from the safety of her house, her daughter, her husband. She had always enjoyed the quiet solitude of her childhood home, a small house with a large garden, set beyond the end of a dead-end road. Now, fully grown, she and her husband had a modest house set similarly to her mother's, just outside another local neighborhood. She had tea with Natalie Corson every Tuesday afternoon, and played Bridge with the local ladies on Wednesday afternoons. Her life was comfortable where it was, but despite how closely she had integrated her life with the Muggles, the fact remained that she was a witch, and blood is thicker than afternoon tea. Only one thing could lead her to take such a risk with her life. She reached out again to touch her half-brother's mind, and found him resting peacefully. She took a sip of her tea. Yes, only one thing.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
"I won't risk their lives." James looked at Dumbledore with an almost pleading expression. "Are you certain this could work?"  
  
Dumbledore's face was set with an expression of resolve. "I am most certain this can work. It's an ancient spell, involving one of the strongest forms of magic in the world, trust, which is almost as strong as love. I knew I had seen it somewhere, and it was in a book I had almost forgotten existed. I feel bound to apologize to you for taking this long, but the school term kept me so busy. Once the students were gone, I was able to devote a proper amount of time to the search. I assure you, the spell will work, provided we find the right person for the job."  
  
"But a Secret Keeper?" Lily interjected. "How exactly does this work?"  
  
"It's a complicated spell, but a simple theory, really. The most binding act of trust is to place your life into someone else's hands. When a person becomes your Secret Keeper, your secret, in this case, your whereabouts is magically enclosed within the very soul of that person. The only way your location could be discovered would be if that person were to freely give up the information."  
  
"So we have to find someone we can trust absolutely," said Lily.  
  
"Exactly." Dumbledore turned to James. "Any ideas?"  
  
James offered a reserved smile. "I think it's time to call up the Marauders."  
  
The next morning, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black found themselves seated around the fireplace of Dumbledore's old living quarters. James was pacing back and forth in front of them, explaining the concept of a Secret Keeper. Lily was sitting next to Sirius, gripping his forearm for comfort. Dumbledore had made himself comfortable in an armchair, entertaining an energetic baby boy.  
  
"So," James concluded, "basically, I want one of you to be my Secret Keeper."  
  
The other three Marauders sat there, jaws slightly agape. It was Peter who spoke first. "Who do you think it should be?"  
  
"I was thinking that it should be Sirius."  
  
Black's eyes went wide. "James, Lily, you know I would do anything for you and my godson, but how can I trust myself? If I'm captured, what if I'm not strong enough? I want to, but I just don't know. James, how could I live with myself?"  
  
James sat on the arm of the couch next to Sirius. "Sirius, I made you Harry's godfather. I couldn't think of anyone I'd trust more."  
  
Peter was looking pensive. He made a small squeaking sound like he usually did when he was upset.  
  
"Peter?"  
  
"Well," Peter began, "You do trust Sirius the most. Problem is, everybody knows that. He'd be in danger the second they figure out that you've got a Secret Keeper."  
  
James looked back at Sirius, who shook his head. "James, if I could save you, Lily, and Harry by my own death, I'd risk it gladly. Thing is, if they catch me . . . oh James I just don't know. What if they did something I can't fight against?" James slumped against the back of the couch and put his hands over his face.  
  
Pettigrew squeaked again. "What about Remus?"  
  
Remus shook his head. "I'd do it, gladly. You know I would, James. You've always been there for me when I needed you the most, but honestly, can you trust a werewolf with this?"  
  
James sighed, and looked back at Sirius. "Sirius?"  
  
"I have to think about it. I really do."  
  
"Well, my masters of mischief, you don't have to decide tonight you know." Dumbledore stood up, cradling a sleeping Harry. "Why don't you all get some rest? Go on home for tonight. Sirius, sleep on it. It's an important commitment, and you might as well make your decision after a good night's sleep."  
  
Dumbledore placed Harry into Lily's waiting arms. "Besides, I think this little one has had enough for today."  
  
They all laughed softly, and let Dumbledore lead them out. James and Lily settled down next to each other on the couch, watching Harry sleep. A few minutes later, Dumbledore returned. "So, James, Lily. Any consensus?"  
  
"I don't know," James said. "I'd really want to have Sirius as our Secret Keeper, but Peter is right. He is too obvious. I didn't really think about putting him in danger."  
  
"He knows the risks, James. You trust him, so trust him to make the best decision." Dumbledore paused, an unreadable expression on his face. "Lily, do you still have it? From your seventh year?"  
  
"What?" she furrowed her eyebrows, confused for a moment. The moment passed quickly as realization struck her. "Oh yes, it's hidden at home. Do you want it?"  
  
"No, no. That is not something for me to carry. Put it somewhere that would never be suspected. As long as it is safe from Voldemort, I feel assured that you will be protected."  
  
James cocked his head. "Why can't we just destroy it?"  
  
Dumbledore straightened his spectacles on his nose. "There are many types of magical shields. That particular one is more powerful than it appears. Lily, you did perform the Binding Charm on it?"  
  
She nodded, lips pressed tightly together.  
  
"It's not every witch or wizard who could perform that charm properly." He smiled at her favourably. "You happen to be one of the ones who can. Now, you two get some sleep. Harry's already a step ahead of you!"  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
"Wormtail, do not cower at the door. I know you're there. You breathe louder than a winded bull."  
  
The diminutive Death Eater entered the Dark Lord's personal study, grateful that his loose robes hid his trembling. "My Lord, I have news for you."  
  
"I am well aware of that. Get on with it!"  
  
"Yes, my Lord!" Pettigrew squeaked in fright. "The Potters are planning to return to their home, but with a Secret Keeper to protect the knowledge of their location."  
  
"Who is this Secret Keeper, Wormtail?" Voldemort's patience was wearing slightly thin.  
  
"They have not yet decided, my Lord. Potter wishes to choose from amongst the Marauders, but it appears as though they will choose Sirius Black."  
  
"Wormtail, listen to me, and listen carefully," Voldemort hissed. "You have one chance to prove yourself remotely useful to me; otherwise, I believe I will find myself a new toy. When you return, you had best tell me that the Potters have made you their Secret Keeper. You will deliver them to me. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes my Lord!"  
  
"Now get out of my sight!"  
  
Pettigrew needed no more encouragement.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Black looked up in surprise from his reading when a green flash in the fireplace deposited a disheveled Peter Pettigrew on his carpet. "Wormtail! What are you doing here?"  
  
Peter looked absolutely shaken up, and Sirius naturally assumed it was in worry over his longtime friend, James. "Padfoot, I had to come talk to you. I've been thinking about it all night. Are you going to become Prongs's Secret Keeper? You've always been the strongest person, well, maybe you and James. They need you."  
  
"Wormtail, I don't know if I can do it. Anybody is bound to figure out it's me. What can we do?" Sirius collapsed back into his chair.  
  
"Who else is there, Padfoot? Moony said it himself. Even he doesn't think anyone should trust a werewolf with something so important. And then there's me. Ha! I'm the last person he should pick."  
  
The expression on Sirius's face changed suddenly. He sat up straight, as though seeing Pettigrew in a whole new light. "Peter, you're a genius."  
  
"I'm a what?" Peter's heart was racing, and he prayed Sirius would mistake the frantically hopeful expression on his face for confusion and panic.  
  
"Peter, you're the last person they would EXPECT! They'd never go after you. You could do this, Peter!"  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I'm positive. I have to tell James."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"My Lord, it is done. The Potters have made me their Secret Keeper."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
When the Inner Circle responded to the summons that night, an undercurrent of excitement hung in the air. Only the Inner Circle knew the significance of that night's attack. They held their collective breath as the Dark Lord began to speak.  
  
"Faithful servants, you know that we have now located the Potters. Tonight begins a new step in our purification and conquest of the Wizarding world. This is my own mission. None are to enter the house but me. Those few I have chosen to honour with this privilege are to surround the area as I enter the house. Upon killing the last member of the Potter bloodline, this power of mind control is open to magical claim, and I shall claim it. With it, we shall be unstoppable. Power is ours!"  
  
With that, Voldemort Disapparated.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Lily set the dishes to wash and strolled out to the living room where James was entertaining Harry. She smiled as she looked at the two of them, lying on a blanket on the living room floor, and wondered which one of them was the bigger baby. Harry cooed and giggled. "Daadaa!"  
  
"I see you! Who's Daddy? Do you see Daddy?" James looked up at Lily with a gigantic grin on his face. "Honey, isn't it good to be home? Look at him. Babies don't belong in drafty old castles, not that I don't adore Hogwarts, but, well, it's just good to be home, isn't it?"  
  
Lily laughed at him. He'd been practically giddy since Peter had left, entrusted with the Potters' most valuable Secret. The spell had been performed successfully. The only person who even knew it was Peter was Sirius. Not even Remus knew, although James hated to keep anything from his friends. It was for the best though, and finally, for the first time in months, James and Lily felt safe. James scooped up Harry and held him up in the air. "You're going to be a fine young wizard, you know, Harry. Your grandfather would be proud to see his little namesake now. Lily, did I ever tell you who I was named after?"  
  
"No, dear. Who?"  
  
"My father's boss, from his time working in the United States. Apparently, my dad didn't think Llewellyn was a good name for me. That was my grandfather's name."  
  
Harry scrunched up his face. "Look at this!' James exclaimed. "He doesn't like it either! Good to know he's at least got some common sense with that kind of thing."  
  
"That was your grandfather's name? Oh my, no wonder! I wonder where that name came from."  
  
"It's an old Welsh name. It means 'like a lion.'"  
  
Harry stuck out his tongue, laughed, then yawned. James chuckled. "I think I'd better put this little guy to bed. It's almost midnight. He shouldn't be awake. Lily? Lily, are you ok?"  
  
"There's something very, very not right here."  
  
A crashing sound at the front door confirmed their worst fears. Lily's voice was barely above a whisper. "They've found us. . ."  
  
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off. . ." James pushed Harry into Lily's arms and shoved her towards the kitchen and the back door. Lily heard the door burst in behind her as she ran. She skidded to a halt in the kitchen to see a dark, hooded figure waiting beyond the back door. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, the sound of cold, high laughter ringing in her ears, then words she never thought she'd hear in her life. "Avada Kedavra!"  
Anna woke with a start. Her heart was pounding, and she immediately knew where the problem was. James. He was in a total panic. She jumped out of bed, shoving her glasses onto her face and grabbing her wand from the night stand. She was pulling her cape on when Donald sat up, a look of utter confusion on his face. "Honey, what's going on? Where are you going?"  
  
"Donald, oh my god, I, I mean, it's James. He's being attacked! It's You-Know-Who. I've got to go! I can help him!"  
  
"Anna, are you crazy? They'll kill you too! I knew this witch stuff was going to cause trouble, but don't let it kill you! For God's sake, Anna!"  
  
She spun to face him, and his face was a terrible mixture of fear, anger, panic, remorse, and utter misery. "Anna, please," he begged her.  
  
She looked into his eyes, the eyes she had sworn to love for the rest of her life. "Take care of Holly. I love you." She grasped him in a tight hug, then stepped back, and without another word, vanished.  
  
Anna Apparated in a thicket, just out of eyeshot of the Potter house. She could make out the sound of a man yelling, and could feel James's mind in a state of total panic. She pulled aside a branch, and saw the front door wide open. Before she could react, she heard the Curse. A green light flashed inside the Potter's living room, and the presence that she had felt her entire life vanished from her mind. Her brother was dead.  
  
Then she felt a mind like no other. It was cold and ruthless. It was like a fetid piece of trash that had sat at the bottom of a cold lake. Voldemort. He was after her nephew.  
  
She closed her eyes, and felt the panic radiating from Lily, and the simple, confused, and very upset mind of a young boy, Harry. Harry was the target. She had to save Harry. Then, she was seeing through the eyes of the boy. They were in a small room with a closed door. Lily was crying, clutching Harry tightly. The door blew open, and the most hideous face she had ever witnessed stared directly into Harry's eyes. He made a move for the boy, and Lily screamed. "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"  
  
"Stand aside, you silly girl!" He moved again to grab the child. "Stand aside, now!"  
  
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead. . ."  
  
Voldemort shoved Lily forward and she toppled into the bureau, shielding Harry with her body. She turned over to face the Dark Lord, Harry pressed against the bureau drawers behind her. Her voice was ragged and exhausted as she cried her final pleas. "Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy . . ."  
  
Voldemort laughed, a high, cold laugh. He raised his wand, and as Lily screamed, he cried, "Avada Kedavra!" Her body sagged to the floor. Voldemort pulled her off of the child. Anna could almost hear his thoughts echoing from beyond Harry's. He didn't just want to kill the child. He thought Harry had something he wanted. Anna almost choked when she realized what Voldemort wanted. The Mind Touch. He thought Harry had the Mind Touch, and he was going to kill the child for it. It was too late to save her brother, but maybe she could still do something for his son.  
  
As Voldemort raised his wand, Anna pushed Harry's consciousness fully aside, and took over the mind of the little child. She looked up at Voldemort, unafraid. "Avada . . ." Then she reached out and touched Voldemort's mind, and connected it to hers. You can't use the killing curse on yourself. If she was going to die, she'd take Voldemort down with her . . . "Kedavra!"  
  
A brilliant green light flashed across Anna's vision. She could feel her mind releasing from her body, sinking slowly. Her life was flying away from her, but in her last moment of awareness, she knew two things. First, she had managed to maintain her hold on Voldemort, and his mind had been torn from his body. Second, she felt Harry's mind and spirit settle back into being . . . she had saved the boy.  
Back in her bed, in a little house in Newmarket, Holly woke up screaming. 


	4. Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1  
  
"Clean the carpets, Potter," had come Uncle Vernon's morning instructions that day. Not another word, just, "clean the carpets." Of all the days that summer, why did he have to pick that particularly sweltering day to have Harry do carpet cleaning?  
  
The answer was obvious. Yesterday, Harry had been carrying a potted plant through the house when an unfortunate collision with Uncle Vernon sent soil spilling all over his uncle's new suit and the floor. Vernon had been livid, shoving the pot back at Harry sharply, raging about his clumsiness. Naturally, the next step was, "Clean the carpets, Potter."  
  
Aunt Petunia found this situation to be the source of a lovely new game; finding spots Harry had "missed." Harry spent more time lugging the steam cleaner up and down the stairs than he had actually spent cleaning.  
  
By that night, Harry's shirt was soaked in sweat and his back ached fiercely. He suppressed a slight groan as he bent down to pick up the power cord and wind it back around the machine. Maybe, with all this heavy lifting, he might actually grow a muscle or two by autumn. Then again, probably not.  
  
Perhaps the ache wasn't such a bad thing. It was a convenient, non- masochistic way to keep his mind distracted from everything else. Harry almost had to laugh at the simple irony of the concept as he dragged himself up the stairs. The Dursleys were actually a distraction from worse things. Perhaps, he wasn't so sure he wanted to face the wizard world right now anyway. The ache in his back was definitely better than the pain of thinking about the events of last spring.  
  
He pushed open the door to his bedroom. The only reminder of his other life visible in that room was Hedwig's cage, which stood empty on the desk. Uncle Vernon had complained vehemently about the Gryffindor pennant he had stuck to the wall, so now there was nothing. Strange, but it didn't bother him today. The heat, however, did.  
  
If the downstairs had been slightly hot and sticky, the upstairs was unbearable, in Harry's room at least. The other bedrooms each had their own air conditioning units, but of course, not Harry's. "Central air conditioning is just ridiculously expensive, and we'd only use it a few days a year," was the excuse. Harry knew better. Of course, Uncle Vernon had also insisted that Harry keep his door closed. How convenient.  
  
Harry stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and tossed it aside. Aunt Petunia was taking a long soak in the bath after her hard day of helping with the cleaning, so Harry getting a turn to wash up was out of the question. He would just have to get there early enough in the morning. With a great sigh, he sprawled across his bed.  
  
He could almost be assured of one thing. No matter how oppressively hot and humid the day had been, just like every other night that summer, he could be sure that tonight would bring yet another dream that would chill him to the core.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
A cloaked figure was crouched beneath some bushes at the edge of the old school grounds. The darkness, pouring rain, and flashes of lightning obscured her view of the building, but still, there was something different from the young woman's memory of it. She wiped her glasses and squinted through the rain. Instead of the familiar old school from her youth, this building was enormous with towers, stone masonry, and the peculiar feel of something very, very old.  
  
She shuddered. There was something wrong in that building, something that felt purely evil, and it sent ice through her veins. Natural instincts told her to run, but something held her feet frozen in place. Glancing up at the tallest tower, an arched window could be seen emitting an eerie glow into the night. Tension built through her body as she realized there was only one course of action. She had to get up there.  
  
Staying low under the trees, darkly shrouded in under her cloak, she made her way around to the side of the castle. A small opening in the side of the wall was nearly hidden by the row of shrubbery. She pushed the branches aside and was swallowed by the pitch black opening. The low tunnel emerged at the bottom of a winding staircase. The stairs climbed forever and the sight gripped her with the sinking feeling that she was going to be too late. She bolted up the stairs at a dead sprint. How many flights could there possibly be?  
  
She finally spilled out onto the top landing to find herself facing an arched doorway from which came that same strange glow that she had seen through the window. Breathing hard, she walked slowly into the doorway. It was a circular room, laid with an ancient stone floor. The edge of the floor and wall was hidden in the shadows. Lightning continued to flash outside, silhouetting the contents of the tower between the woman and the window. In the very center of the room sat an enormous cauldron, large enough to hold a person. The object of her focus was not the cauldron or the ancient masonry, but the personage standing just to the side of the cauldron. The dark, robed figure stood with his shoulder turned just so that she could not quite see his face over his left shoulder. Then he spoke, and his voice made her blood freeze in her veins.  
  
"I've been waiting for you." The voice was rough and hard, and it held no trace of mercy. He turned towards her, and a pair of red eyes bored into hers, but her attention was drawn by something else. It looked like a small staff, a stick of some sort, or a wand, and the tip of it had a glowing haze around it of intense green, like an afterimage burned into the retina from a bright light. One thought struck the woman with complete certainty; that thing had just killed someone. She found her voice.  
  
"Where is he?" she screamed.  
  
"He's dead," the dark man said, the voice conveying pleasure at the thought. "And soon, you will be too."  
  
She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. As she stared at the stick, the green light flashed, filling her vision . . .  
  
Holly sat bolt upright in bed as though woken by an electric shock. Her heart was racing, and sweat beaded her forehead. She tipped her face forward into her hands, rubbing her temples. Why must she always wake with a splitting headache? She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her glasses. As she swung her feet around, she shoved the glasses roughly onto her face, and stumbled sleepily to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Ick. She looked as though she hadn't slept at all, but that wasn't uncommon.  
  
There had been some sleepless nights and some very intense dreams, nightmares to be exact, over the past few years. This summer though, they'd been getting worse. Some felt like they were happening as she experienced them, others felt, well, as though she was seeing something before it happened. She sighed leaned towards the mirror, carefully pulling back her lower eyelid and peeking underneath; bloodshot. There were circles under her eyes and her hair was a mess. Actually, that was normal. Her father hadn't been happy when she had cut it. He said she looked like a boy, but then, he never seemed happy about anything she did.  
  
She assessed herself and decided that she was perfectly content with the mediocre reflection staring back at her. She was small, but she'd always been rather petite, with a round, boyish face. Strong, broad shoulders only served to add to her tomboyish appearance. Her glasses were very plain, but she liked simple things. Her dark brown hair was short, flopped almost into her eyes, and had a tendency to do whatever it wanted. She ran a comb through it, but it fell right back to where it was. She shrugged. The clatter of a frying pan in the kitchen pulled her from her thoughts. She quickly washed her face with cold water and ran down to the kitchen for breakfast.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Harry awoke to that familiar pain shooting across his forehead. He rubbed at his scar, waiting for it to subside, belting down a wave of nausea and dizziness from the throbbing. He flopped back onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He should be used to this by now, but there's not much a person can do when submerged in a dream. He closed his eyes, and tried to remember the images from which he had just awoken. It had been Voldemort of course. This time, Harry had found himself captured by Voldemort inside Hogwarts. He'd been tied, gagged, and tortured. The castle had been deserted after Voldemort had attacked, and he felt a terrible sense of being totally alone.  
  
He'd been taken to a tower, into a room with a huge cauldron. It looked so much like the one from which Voldemort had regained his body, bringing back all the feelings of pain, guilt, and betrayal that had been smashed into those few hours after the third task. Voldemort had raised his wand, and Harry accepted that he was about to die. Just before the flash of green light hit his body, he had gotten the distinct feeling that someone was coming for him, coming to save him, but he knew with a sinking heart that she was going to be too late. He sat up again. She, who? He shook his head. This was all getting to him too much.  
  
He reached over to his nightstand, grabbed his glasses, and shoved them roughly onto his face. He checked his alarm clock. 6:28 a.m. That meant he had time to shower and still get downstairs by 6:50. Then, he could start cooking the breakfast early enough to eat some of it before Aunt Petunia started yelling at him to leave enough for poor little Dudleykins. Aunt Petunia had completely given up on Dudley's diet. She couldn't stand listening to him cry and fuss whenever he was hungry, which was constantly. Personally, Harry couldn't stand it either, so he was perfectly satisfied with that solution.  
  
He rolled out of bed, and quickly pulled the blankets up neatly over the pillow. Grabbing his shower amenities, he walked to the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. His eyes had circles under them, and his hair was a mess, as always. He was still too small for his age, and his round face was pale from overwork and lack of sleep. Across his right collarbone, there was a bruise where the flower pot must have caught him when he'd collided with Uncle Vernon. He hadn't noticed it yesterday, which was surprising. Thin and pale as he was, there was nothing to hide the purplish welt. Skinny, pale, and awkward; such a wonderful combination. The only thing he had ever like about his appearance was the thin, lightning-bolt shaped scar running across his forehead. Now, it only served as a constant reminder of how his life would never be normal. He shrugged, and hopped into the shower.  
  
Harry was tending a skillet of pancakes when Dudley came waddling into the kitchen. Harry idly wondered if Dudley would have to turn sideways to get through doors soon.  
  
"Where's my breakfast?" demanded Dudley. Harry indicated the stack of nine pancakes steaming on a plate on the table. Dudley immediately forgot the string of morning insults he had designed for Harry and turned his attention towards the food. Harry had just finished the rest of the plates when Vernon burst into the kitchen followed by Petunia. "Good morning Dudley," he said with a flourish. "How's my big strong birthday boy? Turning 15 means you're almost a man now."  
  
"Where are my presents?"  
  
""They're in the sitting room, dearie, all 42 of them. Ooh, my Dudleykins is all grown up!" purred Petunia. Then she shifted her attention to Harry, who was pouring orange juice, doing his best not to be noticed. "And you," she spat, "Will be staying with Mrs. Figg today while we take Dudley to the carnival with his friends. You'd best not be a bother to that old lady, or we'll hear about it, and your uncle will take it out of your hide, you ungrateful freak."  
  
Harry groaned inwardly, and took a risk. "Can't I just stay here? I'll just stay in my room, I won't touch anything."  
  
"You think we'd trust you alone in our house, you little rag?" Vernon scoffed at him. "You'd probably blow the place up. No, no, we can't have that. Have to keep an eye on you. Your freakish 'professor' wants us to keep an eye on you, so that's just what we're going to do." Vernon was taking obvious pleasure in the fact that Harry had no choice in the matter and was being blatantly insulted.  
  
Harry nodded meekly and resigned himself to the idea of another day of staring at stupid cat pictures.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
"Albus, a word with you, if I may?"  
  
Dumbledore turned towards the fireplace to see a familiar face bearing a weary, thin smile. "Arabella, my dear friend. You know you may have a word with me anytime, and most certainly today."  
  
The face nodded, and an instant later, a small, grayed witch landed neatly in front of the sitting room fire.  
  
"I see you altogether too seldom, Albus," he said, as she grasped his hands tightly. She looked up at him for a second, and then pulled him into a quick hug. Dumbledore returned the embrace, knowing full well how difficult, and often lonely, this dedicated woman's job had been. She let go, wiping a quick tear from her eye. Dumbledore patted her shoulder softly. "Please, sit down. Tea?"  
  
"Thank you, but no. We really must talk, and I must get back in time for the boy to arrive." She settled into a plush maroon armchair across from the fireplace.  
  
Dumbledore leaned against the edge of his desk and folded his hands against his legs. "You've already reinforced the concealment charms around your house, I'll assume?"  
  
She rolled her eyes at him and flashed him one of her sarcastic smiles. "Of course, I have. You know me better than that. I'm rather excited about today, even if the events that brought it about are rather, well, unfavorable. It's good that we'll have something constructive to pass the time. You know I never really knew what to do with the boy."  
  
"You always said he was very gracious."  
  
"Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "Certainly, he's a very well-mannered child, but I think he was rather bored. The only Muggle things I know well enough to speak about are cats, and I don't think they catch his fancy. They're wonderful creatures, aren't they?"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
The Dursleys didn't even pull into Mrs. Figg's driveway, choosing instead to drop him at the curb and drive off in a cloud of exhaust and dust. Coughing and sputtering, Harry climbed the steps. His hand hesitated over the doorbell. He idly considered making a run for it, but realized just how pointless that was. He pressed the bell and instantaneously, the door creaked open to reveal a small, grey-haired woman.  
  
"Ah, Harry! How good to see you. You've grown! Come in, come in. I have a little something special for you today."  
  
Harry nodded politely, but hardly noticed her as he though to himself, "Great, another cat." He followed her into the living room.  
  
"You just have a seat while I go get something."  
  
He sat on the sagging couch cushion and looked around. The place hadn't changed. It still smelled of cats, although somewhat less oppressively. Perhaps he was coming down with a touch of a cold. On the walls, tables, and mantles were countless pictures of cats, mostly sleeping. He checked twice when one of them appeared to twitch its ear. Maybe he really was coming down with a cold. He took off his glasses to wipe them, and completely missed when the large, ginger coloured cat in the picture on the mantle stretched luxuriously, its squashed face pulling into a wide yawn, then curled back up.  
  
"There you go, my boy. Have yourself a spot of tea. Let me just get this book now . . ."  
  
Mrs. Figg trundled over to a large bookcase to the right of the fireplace, and reached up, pointlessly, for a large leather-bound book that was obviously too high for her.  
  
"Let me help you with that . . ." Harry started to get up, but stopped mid- motion as the tiny woman pulled a wand out of her sleeve and said crisply, "Accio book!" With the book firmly in hand, she turned and began walking towards the couch, and stopped quickly at the sight of Harry. He was still frozen in his half-standing position, now with his mouth slightly opened and his eyes protruded somewhat unnaturally from their sockets. Mrs. Figg peered over he glasses at him, suddenly reminding him strongly of Professor McGonagall. "If you don't close your mouth soon, I expect you'll catch flies."  
  
She sat down on the couch next to the seat he was still hovering over. Now I know I'm sick, he mused to himself.  
  
She patted the seat. "Really, you can sit down, Harry. I'm not going to hex you."  
  
He sat and turned to look at Mrs. Figg in a whole new light. He didn't know whether he was more shocked, relieved, angry, or curious. He had no idea what to say, so he settled for stammering numbly for a few seconds until Arabella cut in, laughing. "You didn't honestly think Dumbledore would let just anyone keep an eye on you?"  
  
Harry found his voice. "Why now?"  
  
Arabella's knowing smile faded into a melancholy echo of what it had been moments ago. She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Harry, I'm not the right person to answer all your questions. Dumbledore will be able to do that soon enough, but for now, I'll tell you what I can."  
  
Harry nodded blankly. His mind was racing. All this time, he had a witch for a neighbour, watching him, and he hadn't known. Why would Mrs. Figg maintain the charade of being a Muggle? She was working for Dumbledore, so there had to be a reason. His eyes focused back from his thoughts and he met Mrs. Figg's directed gaze. Those weren't the eyes of the woman he had always thought was Mrs. Figg. This was a witch to be reckoned with. He relaxed and picked up the cup of tea that she had set for him. He took a sip, slowly put the cup back down, and finally spoke.  
  
"What can you tell me? I mean, it's obvious that you're showing me this because of what happened with Voldemort, but why?"  
  
"Well, Dumbledore wants me to help you with some Defense Against the Dark Arts studies. He expects you'll need those skills sooner than many other people your age. Also, he wants me to start teaching you about some little- known history. These are things that were hushed-up and ignored, because the Wizarding community felt it was better left that way. I've got one day to get you started on this during the summer, but I'll be seeing you again soon enough. Does that answer your question well enough?"  
  
"Yes, thank you," Harry replied, although he certainly felt that there were things still missing. "May I ask one other thing, before we get started?"  
  
Arabella's smile returned as she nodded.  
  
"Why do you have so many cats?"  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
"Holly? Come in, it's dinner time."  
  
"I'm not hungry." Holly glowered to herself. She was out walking in the woods behind her house when she had heard her father's voice. She couldn't stand the summer holidays. Her father was so restrictive, even though she was 20 years old. It would be impossible to get her own place and still afford to go to school, so she dealt with it, knowing it would be over soon. She had chosen to study biology, both because she could be outside, and also because she could get away from people. Well no, that wasn't quite right. She didn't mind people, but being closed up with technology and everything had just always felt wrong. She preferred the company of a few friends and of animals. To add to it, she seemed to prefer animals that were just a tad bit strange.  
  
"Holly," the voice was more insistent now. "It's going to get cold. Please come inside. I want to see you before you leave tomorrow."  
  
"Alright, I'm coming." She bent down and put her hand close to the carpet of leaves on the ground. The garden snake that had been wrapped around her hand uncoiled itself and slid off into the leaves, looking back at her before descending the rest of the way into the shadows. "Thanks for the company, Seymore," she said softly, before turning towards the house. A raven, perched in the branches, watched her progress, and sang a soft, lonely note that was impossible for a raven.  
  
The kitchen had a quaint old-fashioned feel to it that Holly had always loved. Old copper pots hung from the ceiling which was criss-crossed with thick wooden beams. Her father sat at the kitchen table, looking totally out of place in the homey setting. Slightly thick around the middle, with awful glasses and a bad comb-over, he looked like a middle-aged salesman who had gone to seed too soon and was trying too hard to cover it up. Holly sat across from Donald and immediately dug in to the food in the serving dishes. "Pass the pepper, please," she said without looking up.  
  
"Holly, I want to talk to you about this trip you're taking."  
  
Holly sighed, put down her fork, and crossed her arms in front of her. "There's nothing do discuss. I'm going and that's final. I'm 20 years old! I've saved what little money I have for this trip, and it means a lot to me."  
  
"But hiking across England, by yourself! Anything could happen!"  
  
"And if it does, then I'll deal with it. What's the point of living if you live your life in fear? That's something you might want to consider, before you waste what's left of yours."  
  
Donald looked as though he were about to erupt into a rage, but he suddenly lost his violent edge. "I promised your mother I'd take care of you and protect you, no matter what. That's a promise I can't break easily."  
  
"I don't think my mum would have wanted me to live in a cage for the rest of my life." She slammed her palm down on the table, completely deserting her hope for a quiet dinner. "You stuck me in a secluded little school where I was miserable for my entire youth. I never fit in, and the harder I tried, the more miserable I was. You were trying to protect me? From what? Myself? I finally start accepting who I am, and trying to live my life and you do nothing but stop me at every turn. How many times do you tell me to start acting like a girl? Well, I'm a woman now, and I'm more than capable of taking care of myself." (She neglected to add her thought of "even though I look like a teenage boy.")  
  
"If your mother could see you . . ."  
  
"Well, she can't. Neither can grandma. I barely remember them, and all I really have of them is the necklace grandma gave me. You never even talk about mum." Holly choked back the tears welling up in her eyes.  
  
"Holly, please." Donald put a hand to his forehead in frustration. He seemed to be having a quiet argument with himself for a moment, which he apparently lost, because when he looked up again, he had an expression of defeat. "If you want, I have something for you."  
  
Holly glared at him, a total lack of trust openly displayed on her face. "What is it?"  
  
"Your mum's things. And some of your grandma's. They left some things behind that I kept hidden, but I think she'd want you to have them."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
That night, after Holly had finished loading her hiking pack, she sat down on her bed and gently placed the box her father had given her on the pillow. She hesitated, her hand shaking, as she reached for the cover. This was all that remained of her mother and grandmother. She felt more that it was all that remained of her family, as she had never been particularly close to her father. She choked back a tear. What could she remember of her mother? She was very kind, she gave warm hugs, and she always listened. Holly closed her eyes and could see her mum's simple, elegant features, deep brown eyes, slender shoulders, and long, wavy black hair. Her grandmother must have looked similar in her youth, but she had a differently shaped face. What she remembered best of her grandmother was her laugh. The woman had a very matter-of-fact manner and a sarcastic wit. Holly cracked a smile, calling to mind the vague memory of the times when grandma had told off her father. Grandma would have loved Holly for everything she was, unlike her father. She fingered her silver necklace absentmindedly. Grandma also wouldn't have wanted Holly to make herself miserable and waste time missing her.  
  
Holly opened the lid of the box. There was a jumble of odds and ends in the box, haphazardly packed as though the packer was in a rush. She lifted out a thick roll of many sheets of parchment tied together. She undid the knot and pulled away one of the sheets. The hand writing was messy. It read, "Jan, I'd love to meet you for lunch, but you probably already knew that. I'll meet you at noon. Harold" Just an old letter written to her grandmother. All the other pieces of parchment began "Dear Jan," and ended "Love, Harold." Holly laid the roll of parchment aside. She reached into the trunk again and pulled out a single feather. It was pure black, with blue-purple glints when she moved it in the light. It made her hands tingle when she held it. Curious. She started to put it down, then reconsidered and stuck it in the top of her hiking pack for luck.  
  
Next, a few small pieces of jewelry emerged from the box, pretty, but nothing special she decided. This was followed by a few natural stones and crystals. Holly smiled. She had a liking for such things, and she probably got that from her mother. She added these to the pack. A few more trinkets . . . how could she miss this? Folded neatly into the bottom of the box was a beautiful cloak. She pulled it out, and spun around. It was a deep blue, but made of a cloth that she couldn't identify, both silky and thick at the same time. She wrapped it around her shoulders, and vaguely remembered her mother wearing it once. It was warm and soft, and it felt like everything she remembered her mum to be. She folded it carefully and tucked it into her pack as well.  
  
Holly was about to put the lid back on the box when a metallic shine caught her attention. She reached in and pulled out a small, golden key. It had an intricate handle and looked as though it had almost never been used. She smiled, then finally replaced the lid. Still gripping the key, she put the box under her bed, pulled back the covers, and lay down to sleep. Her thoughts were bittersweet, but still glad. She closed her eyes and whispered, "Thank you, mum."  
  
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A/N: This chapter has now been revised for your reading pleasure. Please review! 


	5. Old Adversaries

Chapter Two  
  
Cornelius Fudge slammed the door as he stormed into his office. He paced and fumed irritably for a moment before grabbing his bowler hat from his head and hurling it across the room. He finally flopped down in his armchair in the corner and began nervously pulling at the edge of his moustache. The Ministry's department head meeting had not gone well.  
  
It was obvious that a division was forming in the Ministry, and Fudge was not making any friends. Almost nobody believed his assurances that Voldemort was long dead. Of course, Fudge knew the Dark Lord was quite alive, but if he admitted it, he could probably say goodbye to his job. The whole reason Fudge had become the Minister of Magic was because of Voldemort, and most people knew that, but nobody knew all the reasons why that was so true.  
  
All his life, Fudge had wanted nothing more than power, influence, and popularity. As a youth, he hadn't had one of those things. He was constantly overshadowed by his larger, stronger, and more magically gifted Slytherin housemates. The only things he shared with them were a love of power and a less-than-friendly attitude towards Muggles and Mudbloods. He couldn't keep up with the other Slytherins. He didn't have the raw talent and power to handle the Dark Arts his housemates favoured, especially Tom Riddle.  
  
Tom had been tall, handsome, and gifted, everything he was not, and he hated Tom for it. Fudge stood up and started pacing his office again. He had gotten an insignificant job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when Voldemort had begun his rise to power. The magical community's fear became an opportunity for Fudge to turn his personal, jealous vendetta into a public crusade. His craving for revenge and his power-lust were seen as bravery, strength, and determination in a time of fear, and he was soon appointed as Minister of Magic. Of course, his continued hold on that position was dependent on other people being willing to follow him. From the way the meeting went, it didn't look like that would last much longer.  
  
Those few people who still supported him only did so for ulterior motives. The rest of them . . . somebody had leaked out what had happened at Hogwarts last spring. Somebody had been talking to Dumbledore, that Mudblood lover. That somebody had believed Potter's story, and was now causing this political chaos. His mind kept returning to the same person. Weasley. What a pitiful excuse for a pureblooded wizard. He was close to Potter, and now, the Boy Who Lived, who had once been Fudge's poster-child, was ruining his power and influence, and Weasley had to be at the bottom of it. He could handle Weasley, but there were some wizards who would always be out of his league. There would always Dumbledore.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
"Thank you, Arabella," said Dumbledore as her face faded from view in the fireplace. Dumbledore turned back to Arthur Weasley, who had arrived halfway through his conversation with Arabella Figg.  
  
"We can't leave him with his aunt and uncle anymore," said Arthur in a strained voice. "I knew they didn't feed him well, but a huge bruise like that? Harry is not a clumsy boy, he got that bruise from his uncle. That man has a temper! You should have seen how he reacted that time his son ate one of Fred and George's toffees! I tried to fix it and he almost attacked me! Harry's not safe there . . ."  
  
"Arthur! Please calm down," Dumbledore hushed the frantic wizard. "I had no intent of keeping Harry at the Dursleys any longer this summer. I had called you here to ask you to bring him to the Burrow."  
  
Arthur Weasley had the look of a sprinter who had run into a wall. "Oh."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled, but then became serious again. "Harry is most certainly still upset over the events of last spring, and staying with the Dursleys any longer than necessary will do more harm than good. You may wish to invite Miss Granger to visit soon. I also had to discuss some other things. You probably know what I'm talking about already."  
  
"Yes, I have a fairly good idea," sighed Arthur. "Fudge."  
  
"Quite right. He's about to make a move. You've done an excellent job of gathering support in the Ministry, almost too good. With the Death Eater attacks becoming more frequent, and striking Muggle communities as well now, people are becoming hard-pressed to ignore the facts. You know Fudge is going to be desperate soon. You have to be ready."  
  
"Albus, I've been ready for this for a long time. I've got the support I need."  
  
"Very good, Arthur. Send an owl to Harry, letting him know you'll be picking him up in two days. In the meantime," Dumbledore paused, "Be ready for a confrontation with Cornelius Fudge."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
The Dursleys hadn't said a word to Harry when they'd picked up him from Mrs. Figg's house. Vernon had glared the large, leather-bound book he was carrying with utmost suspicion, but had remained silent. It would have done him no good to speak, as Dudley was complaining loudly the entire time. Apparently, most of his friends from school had decided that he was more of an annoyance than anything else, and only two people had shown up at the carnival to meet him.  
  
When they had arrived home, Harry had bolted for his room to send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione with messages about Mrs. Figg. He was excited about knowing there was a witch in his neighborhood, and it had given him a good emotional boost, but soon after he had returned it had faded again. In fact, it was almost worse than it had been before, because for all his fame, which he didn't want anyway, this was just one more reminder that he could never have a normal life. The next day, Harry was totally distracted by the anticipated arrival of replies from his friends. He was so distracted that, for the first time in years, he actually did let breakfast burn. The kitchen was in total chaos as Dudley howled for his food, Aunt Petunia fussed over Dudley, and Uncle Vernon raged at Harry's incompetence.  
  
"You clumsy little freak!" he bellowed over Dudley's wails. "We give you the food off our table and you burn it! No gratitude, I tell you. You don't want to eat, do you? Get out of our kitchen and get to work on the garden. Don't let me see your face for the rest of the day!"  
  
He grabbed Harry by the collar and heaved him out the back door, headfirst into the patio railing. Vernon slammed the door, and Harry was left in a dazed heap on the patio, rubbing his head and listening to the ringing sound in his ears. After several long minutes, he pulled himself to his feet, holding the railing to keep from tipping over. He felt up under his hairline and pulled his hand away to reveal a small, wet, red spot. Great, he thought to himself. What a perfect day.  
  
He started on the weeding, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, unsure if it was the splitting headache, his hunger, or his steadily increasing worry. Dumbledore wouldn't have had Mrs. Figg talk to him unless something was very wrong.  
  
Of course something was very wrong. Voldemort was back, and it was all his fault. Cedric was dead, and it was all his fault. Everything was all his fault.  
  
Harry continued to work himself into an oblivious frenzy. Maybe, if he worked hard enough, pulling weeds and trimming hedges, he could make everything right, just by raw effort. The morning sun became the glaring heat of noon, and Harry only paused to take a drink from the garden hose. When the shadows had finally begun to lengthen, Harry's exhaustion and the oppressive heat finally got the better of him. With a pained expression brought on by aching muscles, he sprawled on his back in the flowerbed. His mind was feeling blissfully empty for the first time all day. He was shaken from his oblivion by a large owl landing on the wheelbarrow.  
  
"Hedwig!" Harry walked over to the wheelbarrow and let Hedwig nip his finger lightly before he untied the parchments from her leg. There was a reply each from Ron and Hermione. He read Ron's first.  
  
Harry,  
I can't believe this! Ok, first, that's great about having Mrs. Figg helping you out. What's that book about exactly? Ok, better news than that. Dad told me I could give you the news. He's going to be going to the Dursley's tomorrow to bring you to the Burrow. Dumbledore said you can stay for the rest of the summer! Make sure your things are packed, I don't know what time Dad plans on going, and he's not here so I can't ask him. The sooner the better. Anyhow, he might also be inviting Hermione soon. I think he talked to her on the fellytone. He likes that thing a lot. Talk to you tomorrow!  
Ron.  
  
Harry allowed himself a smile. It was good for him to have a friend like Ron, especially now, when everything was getting so depressing. He unrolled Hermione's message next. It was much longer.  
  
Dear Harry,  
It's so good to hear from you. I haven't heard from you much this summer, and I've been worried, because I know you've been upset. I won't tell you not to worry, but you should know you've got people who love you, and who care about you. I'm glad Mrs. Figg gave you that book to read. I'd like a change to see it for myself. Defense Against the Dark Arts? It must talk about You-Know-Who, but maybe about other dark wizards too. There might be some ideas of how to fight back. Did Mrs. Figg say anything else able what Dumbledore told her? How many cats does she have? I bet she'd love Crookshanks.  
Mr. Weasley called me and invited me to come visit soon. I'm glad he figured out how to use the telephone. He enjoys it so much. Anyhow, you take care of yourself. Make sure you tell Sirius or Dumbledore immediately if your scar hurts or if you have any more of those nightmares. I'll be seeing you soon.  
Love, Hermione.  
  
Harry sighed. That was Hermione all right. It was almost reassuring to hear her familiar style of worrying. Hedwig hooted softly.  
  
"I'm so sorry, but I don't have anything I can give you. You'll have to hunt for yourself tonight."  
  
The owl hooted her understanding as he held out his hand, which she nipped affectionately before taking off for the edge of town to hunt. Harry looked up over the roof of the neighbor's house where the sun was just starting to dip out of sight. He would have preferred to stay outside all night, away from his uncle, but he knew he would never get away with that. He began gathering up the gardening tools when he saw something land in the tree in the neighbor's yard. At first he thought that Hedwig had returned for something, but the bird was barely visible in the branches and was most certainly not a snowy owl. He recognized the peculiar clacking call of a raven.  
  
He had started to resume his cleanup when the bird's call changed. It was musical and haunting, certainly not the cry of a raven. It sounded like . . . Fawkes. He looked back at the tree, and in a sudden rush of movement, the bird launched itself from its branch directly at him. Harry froze, debating whether to stay where he was, to duck, or to run. Before he could decide, the bird had landed on the wheelbarrow, just where Hedwig had been a moment before. The two of them stood still for a moment, regarding each other carefully. The raven cocked its head, and Harry swore it laughed at him. Deciding it was safe, and still feeling quite foggy from his headache, Harry spoke to the bird.  
  
"Thanks a lot," he moaned. "I've had a miserable day, and now I've got a crow laughing at me."  
  
The raven stood bolt upright and screeched off an indignant reply. Harry was certain it had just told him to watch his manners.  
  
"Sorry! Sorry, it's just that I've been upset all day, I've got a terrible headache, and I guess I'm overreacting." Harry eyed the bird appraisingly. "You're not a typical raven, are you?"  
  
The bird winked at him. Harry shook his head to clear it, wondering if he was delusional, but only succeeded in making his head hurt more. The raven watched him for a moment, and then sang that same peculiar note again. Harry listened as it died away. "I'd ask where you come from, but that wouldn't do me much good, would it?"  
  
The raven clacked at him, and although it sounded like any other raven, Harry distinctly got the impression that it had said something about his family. Harry became sullen again. "My so-called family is in that house, while I'm out here, working. Some family," he grumbled to himself. At that moment, Uncle Vernon stuck his head out the back door.  
  
"Harry Potter! If I find one tool left outside to rust, you'll wish you had never been born!"  
  
Harry turned to the raven. "Speak of the devil. Hey, I've got to go. Thanks for the company."  
  
The raven clacked, and took off in a rush of wings. Harry picked up the hedge clippers and leaned over to put them in the wheelbarrow, when something shiny caught his attention. He reached in and picked up a large, glistening, black feather. He smiled weakly through his exhaustion and whispered a silent "thank you" as he tucked the feather into his pocket, for luck. He'd need all the luck he could get.  
  
That night, Harry dragged himself into his room, dirty, hungry, and completely wiped out. His head was pounding, and even after he wiped off his glasses, everything was still slightly fuzzy. He didn't think about it for long. He pulled off his filthy clothes, washed up a little bit, and fell onto his bed. Sleep came almost immediately, and as his sleep had been for the past weeks, it was soon filled with unwelcome visions.  
  
He found himself in a large, well furnished sitting room, watching three darkly robed men conversing.  
  
"Malfoy, your son is ready to commit himself to us, is he?" came Voldemort's harsh voice.  
  
"He is, my Lord. To your honour and glory."  
  
"He is quite young, and children of his age are impressionable. He will have to prove himself before I consider this further."  
  
"My Lord, what is he to do? He must stay at school all year, otherwise, suspicions will be raised."  
  
"Ah, you answer your own question. Who else is at that miserable school with him?" Voldemort's voice held anticipation and a sinister kind of delight.  
  
"My Lord, my son will serve you dutifully." Malfoy bowed deeply. "Do you simply want Potter dead, master?"  
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed sharply. "No, he must be brought here. I have not lost sight of why I wanted the Potters in the first place. Had I killed Potter this spring, I would have finally obtained the power I desired, but little bastard escaped." The Dark Lord looked at Wormtail. "And you, fool, had suggested I use another wizard. Potter had not only taken my body from me, he still holds the power of the Mind Touch."  
  
Pettigrew squeaked nervously. "M-m-my Lord, the boy has still shown no signs of having this power. Are you sure that he. . ."  
  
"Silence!" Voldemort's voice echoed impossibly in the room. "This power is the key to my success, and most certainly Potter has it. I have considered this carefully, and now I am quite sure that the Mind Touch is how Potter survived as an infant. But before we can get Potter, we have another small matter to attend. The Ministry of Magic will fall. Malfoy, you, as our ministry spy, will lead the operation, Wormtail, assist him, except for one thing. Leave Fudge to me."  
  
"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy and Pettigrew responded at the same time.  
  
"Silence!" Voldemort's voice echoed impossibly in the room. "This power is the key to my success, and most certainly Potter has it. I have considered this carefully, and now I am quite sure that the Mind Touch is how Potter survived as an infant. But before we can get Potter, we have another small matter to attend. The Ministry of Magic will fall. Malfoy, you, as our ministry spy, will plan the operation. Wormtail, assist him, except for one thing. Leave Fudge to me."  
  
"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy and Pettigrew responded at the same time.  
  
"I will have Cornelius Fudge, and then I will have Potter." Voldemort looked past his Death Eaters, and although Harry was sure he couldn't see him, those red eyes bored right through his green ones. His scar began to burn, disorienting him as his sight dimmed around the edges. A scream began to tear itself from his mouth when Harry felt himself being gripped around the upper arms and pulled into the air. He felt the beating of wings over his head, and was reminded of riding Buckbeak. He gazed up and saw he was being carried by a giant crow. Wait, no! It was a raven. In fact, was it . . . the enormous bird clacked a reply to the unspoken question, and Harry was certain it was indeed the same raven. He thought he heard its name, in his mind, but he was too sleepy, his head hurt too much, and he just couldn't focus on it.  
  
They were flying over the countryside, and sky was beginning to lighten before the sunrise. The raven veered and dropped towards the ground, and Harry saw a small campsite with a single tent and dying campfire. The ground came rushing up below his feet, and the great bird dropped him so that he rolled softly into the tall grass. He turned onto his stomach and pushed himself up. . .  
  
And woke up in his own bed, in the smallest bedroom at 4 Privet Drive. He dropped himself back onto his pillow and groaned. His head still hurt, and it wasn't from his scar. He reached for his glasses, settled them on his nose, and looked out the window. The sun was certainly peeking up over the neighbor's roof. Harry rolled out of bed, trying to stretch the kink out of his neck, and made his way to the mirror. He almost balked at his own reflection. Instead of circles under his eyes, a deep black and blue ring surrounded each of them. How hard had he hit his head? He was starting to wonder if it was easier to deal with Voldemort or his uncle. He was stiff and sore and was not looking forward to another day of dealing with his vicious uncle when he suddenly remembered that he was leaving. Mr. Weasley would be coming for him sometime that day. With a grin, he grabbed his shower robe and dashed for the bathroom.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Holly rolled over with a groan, feeling a sharp pain in her side. She reached under her sleeping bag, and pulled out a rock that must have spontaneously sprouted out of the ground overnight. She felt backwards behind her head and pulled down the tent zipper to throw the stone out of the tent when a big ball of black feathers came hurtling through the flap. It crashed against the far side of the tent and immediately up-righted itself and began clacking at her loudly.  
  
"Bram! I haven't seen you in a long time. Slow down, girl! I'm still half asleep. I was having the strangest dream."  
  
The raven twittered at her and cocked her head. Holly grinned faintly and shook her head. "I don't know, I'm trying to remember now. I saw you flying towards my tent, that's the last thing I saw. Before that there was the strange man with the red eyes again, and he was talking to these other two men in dark robes. They were planning to attack someone else. I can't remember it very clearly now. I was standing off to the side, but it was more like I was seeing through someone else's eyes. Does that make any sense?"  
  
Bram sang one of her eerie tones then clacked her beak. "Well, it doesn't make sense to me. I'm on holiday, finally away from my father and other people, and I still can't get a good night's sleep." She rubbed her temples. "I've still got a headache. Where are my glasses?"  
  
Bram laughed at her, dug her beak under the edge of the sleeping bag and pulled out a pair of glasses. "Thanks a lot, you."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Harry kept telling himself that it would all be over in a few hours, that Mr. Weasley would be coming for him any time now, but it wasn't helping much. Petunia had taken Dudley to the dentist, which meant he would also get an afternoon on the town to make him feel better after such an upsetting morning. Petunia seemed to have a calming effect on Vernon, if such a thing was possible, and with her gone, there was nothing to stop the man.  
  
It had been tolerable until Vernon's new suit came back from the cleaners just before lunch, with a dirt stain still ground into the front of the jacket. It certainly hadn't helped that only moments before that, he had told his uncle that the Mr. Weasley would be picking him up sometime that day. At that point, Vernon Dursley had become Harry's worst nightmare.  
  
Maybe it was that his head was still pounding from the day before, or maybe because it really was as bad as it seemed, but Harry swore his uncle had never been that terrible. Vernon kept hollering at him to move faster, to go do yet another chore, or simply to tell him what a miserable little freak he was. Harry suspected that Uncle Vernon wanted to get every last bit of work and misery out of him before he escaped for the rest of the summer. Harry had barely found time to throw his belongings into his trunk in-between chores. By mid-afternoon, Harry's temper had reached its limit.  
  
"Harry Potter! Get down here this instant!"  
  
Grumbling, Harry made his way to the kitchen to find his uncle standing next to the sink with his hands on his extremely beefy hips. "You left the counter all sticky when you washed the dishes, boy. It had better be cleaned by the time your aunt starts cooking dinner, and it will most certainly be done by the time your freakish friend comes to get you. Your type has no manners, absolutely indecent, not even announcing when they'll arrive!"  
  
Don't react, Harry told himself. Just don't react. Don't rise to it. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."  
  
"Don't you get cheeky with me, you hear?" Vernon was edging closer to the boy. Harry took a small step backwards, torn between yelling back and agreeing to whatever the man said, just to get him to go away. "You're not on holiday yet, and I will not have an ungrateful little leech like you thinking he can live under my roof without working for it." Harry was beginning to feel very hot behind the ears, and very uncomfortable. Vernon continued. "You parents go and get themselves killed, and leave us with the likes of you, and you feel as though you can breeze in and out as you please, with no responsibility, no respectable education and no job. Lazy and irresponsible, just like your parents."  
  
The tidal wave that was threatening to overwhelm Harry spilled over. "Don't you ever talk about my mum and dad like that! They were better people than you'll ever be!"  
  
"Don't you speak back to me, you little whelp!" Vernon bellowed, not noticing the slightly sooty wizard who had just walked into the kitchen behind him. "You should have died with your parents! It's probably your fault they're dead!"  
  
"Screw you!" Harry screamed, having completely lost control. He knew what was coming next, and closed his eyes before the inevitable fist struck his jaw. It never came.  
  
"Stupefy!" cried Mr. Weasley. The force of the spell sent Mr. Dursley flying into the edge of the countertop before he slumped to the floor.  
  
"Oh my goodness, Harry! Are you alright?" Mr. Weasley ran to Harry and grabbed him by the shoulders, looking him squarely in the eye. Ron, who had been behind his father, widened his eyes in shock as he got a full view of the scene. "Bloody hell! Harry!"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, although his voice was shaky. "He didn't touch me. Hi Ron."  
  
"What happened to your eyes?" Mr. Weasley wasn't going to be shaken off easily.  
  
"Oh, that." Harry shrugged. "That was from yesterday, I think."  
  
Some of the colour drained from Ron's face. "Harry, your eyes aren't focusing right, are they?" Harry shook his head, and Mr. Weasley grimaced. "We've got to get you out of here. Ron, go grab his trunk."  
  
Harry nodded numbly and looked over at his uncle who was sprawled across the floor like a comatose hippopotamus. "What about him?"  
  
"Oh don't worry. He'll come around eventually." Mr. Weasley scowled. "He's lucky that's all I did."  
  
Ron's voice sounded from the living room. "I've got it, dad."  
  
"Come on Harry. Let's get you home." 


	6. The Death Eaters

Chapter 3  
  
Holly pulled out her compass and sighted across a small valley to the peak of a distant hill. She made a mark on her map, folded it, and tucked it back into its pouch. She smiled as she looped the cord of the compass around her neck. She'd been away from home for more than two weeks now, and it had been absolutely wonderful. She had hiked progressively north along the eastern coast, and then turned inland to explore. She had met some great people, but never stayed more than a day in a single place. Independence was suiting her very nicely. She had dropped a letter to her father at a post office when she'd stopped in a small town to pick up more supplies, just to let him know she was alive. Personally, she didn't care if he knew or not. Bram had been enough companionship for her needs.  
  
She could see the roofs of the houses of the small village in the valley, deciding that she would refresh her supplies, stay the night in a local inn, and then make her way further north in the morning. The day had greeted her by waking her up from yet another bizarre dream, but she had put it out of her mind. There are things you can control, and things you can't, and on her vacation, she would make the most of the things she could control. The late morning sun was warm on her shoulders, and Holly felt as though the world was finally giving something back to her.  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
"Good morning, Harry!" Ron greeted his best friend, who still had his face buried into his pillow. "Harry? C'mon, I know you're awake."  
  
Leave me alone, Ron. I had a miserable night's sleep, Harry thought to himself as he buried his face deeper into the pillow.  
  
"Harry? It's almost noon! You tossed and turned so much last night that you slept through breakfast. You're going to miss lunch. Hermione is already here!"  
  
Harry pulled the bedding up over his head. His voice was muffled through the quilt. "Ron, it can't possibly be noon already. I feel like I just went to bed."  
  
"Harry? You can't be still sleeping!" Hermione's voice sounded through the door. Harry pushed himself upright immediately and stared at Ron. "Oops. I'm up Hermione, I'm up!"  
  
Harry grabbed his glasses and pulled on some proper clothes as fast as he could while Ron stood there laughing. It was a welcome sight for Harry, like every morning had been for the past couple of weeks, although he wondered if he was going to go blind soon from the bright orange décor of Ron's bedroom. He was glad to be able to spend time with Ron. They had played Quidditch out behind the garden, enjoyed Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, played countless games of wizard's chess and Exploding Snap, and even got to test some of Fred and George's latest experiments in the world of magical mayhem. It had been a wonderful distraction from the more harsh facts of reality. In the very least, it had kept him from brooding, and he was grateful for that.  
  
"Are you dressed yet? Hurry up!" Hermione said before pushing the door open anyway.  
  
"Hermione!" Harry choked, still trying to pull his shirt over his head.  
  
"Oh, come on now. It's not that terrible. You're dressed enough," Hermione said, very matter-of-factly. Ron was trying to stifle his chuckling, but it wasn't working. Harry finally finished pushing his head through the collar of his shirt, leaving his hair standing in every direction. "Now I'm dressed. You could have waited another moment, you know. Hermione?"  
  
Hermione was now also covering her mouth with her hand, shaking with silent laughter. Harry looked very confused. "What?"  
  
Ron finally burst out. "Look in the mirror!" he blurted between laughs. Harry turned to the mirror, his eyes widening at his own appearance, and his ears turning bright red. "Thanks a lot," he said, frantically trying to flatten his hair with his hands to its normal level of messiness.  
  
"Oh, Harry, it's just that there hasn't been much to laugh about lately," Hermione said, "and you must admit, you did look quite amusing." She walked over to Harry and examined his face closely. "You can still see some of the bruising around your eyes if you look. I can't believe your own uncle did that to you. I was really worried."  
  
Harry sat back onto Ron's bed. "It's not that big a deal, Hermione. I mean, he pushed me out the door, and I fell into the railing." Harry looked at Hermione with a faint look of pleading in his eyes. "Can we just talk about something else?"  
  
Hermione nodded, then looked to Ron for some help. "Exploding Snap anyone?"  
  
Harry shook his head. Hermione twisted her lip. "Harry, can I look at that book of yours?"  
  
"Sure. Why?" Harry leaned forward, reaching under the edge of Ron's bed and withdrawing a large, dark green, leather-bound book.  
  
"Well, honestly, I think we could learn something valuable about You-Know- Who in it." Ron flinched at the thought of that book having anything to do with Voldemort, but Hermione folded her arms and kept talking. "Obviously, that's why Mrs. Figg gave it to you. Harry, have you even been reading this?"  
  
"Yes, well, not as much as I suppose I should. It's not exactly light reading, you know."  
  
"Harry, this could be important! Haven't you heard what's been going on around England? All the attacks? You-know-who is bound to try something with you soon. I'm surprised . . ."  
  
Ron interrupted her. "Hermione, hasn't he had to deal with enough stress this year? Hell, it's been one thing after another, and he's finally had a chance to relax. You-know-who spent all of last year setting up to kill him, and I did nothing to make it any easier on him. Give him a break!"  
  
"Ron, if Harry isn't prepared for whatever You-Know-Who has planned, who knows what could happen? He has to take every opportunity to be ready. I'm sure . . ."  
  
"He's been through enough!"  
  
"Stop it both of you!" Harry raised his voice over both of his friends. They both stopped dead in the middle of their arguments and stared at him. "I don't want to see you two fighting. That's the last thing we should be doing. Hermione, I really don't want to read it just yet. Please. I want to enjoy spending some time with you two, away from whatever is going to happen. I don't want to think about it."  
  
Hermione looked at him with a strained expression on his face, but simply bit her lower lip as Harry continued. "I'm not going to have much of a chance to live a normal life soon. I don't think I ever have. Just . . . let's just go play a game of Exploding Snap."  
  
"Are you sure, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"Yes. Hermione, if you want to look through the book while you're here, I don't think I could stop you if I wanted to. Besides, you're much better at that kind of thing than I am." He held out the book for her. "I'd trust you with it more than I'd trust myself."  
  
Hermione looked as though she were fighting an inner battle with herself. Finally, she reached for the book and took it in her right hand. Then, she flung her left arm around Harry's neck. "I was so worried about you!"  
  
Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder at Ron, who seemed just as speechless as Harry. Ron shrugged, and Harry returned Hermione's hug. She pulled back from him fairly quickly, resuming her usual demeanor. "Well now, I believe we have a game of Exploding Snap waiting for us?"  
  
Ron grinned deviously. "Oh yes we do. However, we've got a new twist to the game. You see, Fred and George have been, uh, experimenting with our set. You'll see."  
  
Ron hadn't been kidding about his brothers' modifications to his Exploding Snap set. They played outside, to avoid causing destruction to the Weasley household. By the time they returned to the house, each of them had been blasted by various colours of what almost looked like a fine mist of paint and smoke. Hermione's face was bright blue and purple, Ron had been covered by red pigment ("At least it matches your hair," Hermione said.), and Harry's hair was standing on end, now a vibrant shade of green ("Matches your eyes!" Ron teased him.).  
  
"We've got to clean up before we get to the table," Hermione observed.  
  
"Before mum sees us," Ron agreed, as he walked around the edge of the staircase and ran directly into George.  
  
"Wicked!" George exclaimed. "Fred! It worked! Come see this!"  
  
"What?" asked Fred as he came into the room, then almost doubled over in laughter. "That's perfect! Extreme Exploding Snap! Of course, we're working on a better name for it . . ."  
  
". . . like 'Rita Skeeter's Quick-Makeup' . . ."  
  
". . . but it's still experimental, so we have some time."  
  
Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean, experimental?"  
  
"Oh that," George said. "You see, we're having trouble finding a red colour that comes off."  
  
Ron looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "What?!?"  
  
Just then, Mrs. Weasley came down the stairs. "Time for lunch, everyone. Go clean up . . . good heavens! Fred! George! What have you two done this time?"  
  
"Oops, got to go!" Fred said quickly, grabbing his brother and making a break for the back door.  
  
"Not so fast!" yelled their mother, but she was too late. She looked at the three teenagers who remained, appearing much like a box of crayons, and she put her hands on her hips. "Well, I suppose we had best put you three right before lunch. Come along," she said, pulling out her wand and turning to the kitchen. Harry exchanged wide grins with his friends, then followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
"Do you need some help finding something, young man?" asked the middle aged gentleman from behind the counter.  
  
Holly was still looking around the aisles of the small variety store, adding supplies to her basket. She paid no attention to the man's question, so he asked louder, "Ah, sir?" Holly looked around the store, and seeing no other customers, realized he was addressing her. She turned fully towards him with an unreadable expression on her face.  
  
"I'm quite alright, but of you please, could you tell me where I might find matches, dried fruit, and nuts?" she asked neutrally.  
  
The gentleman looked shocked. "I-I-I'm terrible sorry, ma'am!" he exclaimed, moving quickly around the counter. "Let me get those for you straight away!"  
  
Holly laughed. "No, really sir, it's quite alright. It's actually somewhat funny. I've been hiking all day, I have short hair, and it's an easy mistake to make."  
  
The merchant didn't seem fully convinced that she wasn't upset with him, and bustled around the store plucking odds and ends from the shelves. "Here, we have waterproof matches, just for travelers like you. We have several varieties of fruit and nut mixes. I recommend the one with the dried apples. What else would you be needing for your travels?"  
  
Holly grinned lopsidedly and nodded. "Actually, a newspaper, I think."  
  
"Right away! These here are national news, and this stack has local news."  
  
Holly selected a local paper and placed it by the register with the rest of her provisions. The gentleman tallied the bill, excluding the newspaper ("For your troubles, miss.") and bid her a good day and safe travels. She loaded the supplies into her pack just outside the store and moved to shoulder her load. It was getting late, and the shadows were stretching across the main street of the town. She stood there for a moment, appreciating the quiet beauty of the small town. The sound of someone calling out made her jump.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" A man wearing funny clothes came hurrying up towards her. "Harry Potter, my goodness, of all the people to meet! May I . . . you're not Harry Potter, are you?"  
  
Holly stared at the man for a moment, her eyebrows deeply furrowed. "Who? My name is Holly, not Harry."  
  
"Oh my, obviously not. I'm so terribly sorry, but the resemblance is remarkable."  
  
"Who IS he?" Holly pushed.  
  
"Ah, you wouldn't know him, dear, you're a Muggle." The man immediately looked as though he wished he hadn't said that. "I'm sorry, never mind, young lady. Sorry to bother you." He turned to leave, but a strange thought flashed across Holly's mind, as though she could see what the man was thinking. Her friends used to tease her, saying that she could read minds. She never told them that she sometimes thought she really could, and she tended to trust her unusual instinct.  
  
"He has something to do with that man with the red eyes, doesn't he?"  
  
The peculiar man jolted to a halt as though he'd been slapped. "You know about You-Know-Who? But you can't, it's not possible."  
  
Holly rolled her eyes. "I don't know about anyone. But you were thinking about someone who reminded me of the red-eyed man in the dreams I've been having, and for some reason, I'm sure you know." The look on the man's face made Holly wonder if she had spoken her thoughts much too quickly. She had a tendency to do that. Open mouth, insert foot.  
  
The man's eyes widened. "I really must go," he said quickly. "Sorry to bother you, miss. Good day." He tipped his hat and hurried off down the street.  
  
"That was strange," Holly mused to herself. She shouldered her pack and made her way down the street to the local inn.  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
Evening found everyone scattered around the Weasley's small but cozy sitting room. Harry and Ron were deeply engrossed in a game of Wizard's Chess. Mrs. Weasley was working on the upcoming Christmas's sweaters with Ginny's help, while Ron watched them between moves, looking for an opportunity to jinx the maroon ball of yarn to a different colour. Hermione was pouring over Harry's book feverishly, jotting down notes every so often. Fred and George were trying to convince Ron to let them experiment with his chess set.  
  
"Come about, Ron! It would be great! Picture the possibilities!" Fred pleaded.  
  
"I'm picturing knights and bishops jumping off the board attacking me while I sleep. No!"  
  
George tried his luck. "It could be one of our biggest sellers! Everyone loves Wizard's Chess because it's interactive. We'd just be improving on it."  
  
"I'd reckon almost getting killed by a chess set once is enough!"  
  
"Knight to H-5." Harry watched as his piece wiped one of Ron's pawns off the board. "I'm with Ron on that one, George, Fred."  
  
"Besides," Ron continued as he studied the board, "you'd probably destroy it. This set has been through enough. Knight to C-6. Checkmate."  
  
Harry tipped his head back and moaned as his king danced around frantically on its square. "You did me in again!" it yelled at Harry. "Every single time! Where's my Queen? I want to see my Queen! Is she ok?"  
  
Ron laughed at Harry's misery. "I'll have to work on getting you a self- playing set for Christmas, Harry. You could use the practice."  
  
Just then, the Weasley's rather unique grandfather clock let out a low clang. Mrs. Weasley looked up at it and smiled. "Ah, your father is home!" The kitchen door swung open and Mr. Weasley came into the room. He looked exhausted. "Hi kids, hi Molly." He leaned over and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. "This has been quite a day."  
  
"What's wrong, Dad?" George asked.  
  
"Cornelius Fudge, that's what." He sat on the edge of Mrs. Weasley's armchair. "The man is completely mad, I'm telling you. I really shouldn't go into it, not now. I'm exhausted." He turned to his wife and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm going to grab a bite to eat from the kitchen and get ready for bed."  
  
Everybody's eyes followed Mr. Weasley as he left the sitting room. Ron and Harry exchanged curious glances. Nobody spoke for a moment, until Mrs. Weasley stood, putting aside her knitting. "Well, dears, I'm going to go speak to your father. You all get to bed at a reasonable hour, you hear? Goodnight Harry, Hermione. Fred, George, no explosions after I've gone to bed, now." With that, she kissed Ginny on the top of her head and left. Ron wasted no time, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him out of the room. He dragged Harry up the stairs and to his bedroom, almost shutting the door on Hermione.  
  
"Harry," Ron whispered conspiratorially, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
Before Harry could answer, Hermione had inserted herself into the middle of her two friends. "Don't you two go listening in on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! That's totally inappropriate!"  
  
"Did you see the look on his face? Something really important happened. Hermione, you're always the one who says we have to know what's going on and we have to be ready and such. If something happened with Fudge, that's exactly what we have to know!"  
  
Harry stopped the two of them by holding up his hands. "Cut that out! There you two go again! Besides . . . I was just going to ask Mr. Weasley myself."  
  
Ron looked very disappointed that his little spy mission had been cut off before it had begun, but Hermione beamed. "Now that's much better." She lowered her voice slightly. "But you WILL tell us what he says, right?"  
  
"Of course I will." Harry cracked a smile. "I'll be right back."  
  
As Harry approached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom door, he heard Mr. Weasley already deep in discussion with his wife.  
  
"Molly, I don't know whether I should be pleased or not. Even though Fudge isn't the most popular of sorts, he's still in control of the Ministry. I expected him to ask for information about Harry, but I didn't expect this!" A pause, then Mrs. Weasley spoke. "Arthur, he wouldn't really fire you! There would be an uproar." "The Ministry is already divided, Molly. It's ironic, but the ones supporting Fudge are the ones we all figure are Death Eaters, including Malfoy. Fudge knows I'm at the bottom of his fall in popularity, but for now, he can't prove it." "Oh Arthur." The conversation stopped for a moment, and Harry took that as the opportunity to knock on their door. He heard footsteps approach, and Mr. Weasley appeared.  
  
"Harry! Are you ok?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley. I had wanted to ask you about what happened at the ministry." Harry hesitated, then said, "I know it has something to do with me."  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded. "Please, come in, sit down." He closed the door behind Harry. "How much did you hear?"  
  
"Nothing, really, sir. I just want to know what's going on." Harry sat down on a chair near the foot of the bed.  
  
"Arthur! Really, do you think it's a good idea?" Mrs. Weasley looked anxiously at Harry.  
  
"Molly, he needs to know. If last year was hard for him, can you imagine this year getting any better? He has a right to know as much as possible." He turned to Harry, sat down on his bed, and took a deep breath.  
  
"You already know that Cornelius Fudge doesn't want anyone to know about You-Know-Who's return. In the weeks since then, the attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns have started again. It's almost as bad as it was 15 years ago. The Aurors can't function because if Fudge lets them, it's as though he's admitting You-Know-Who is really back. The Ministry of Muggle Affairs has been stretched to the limit. We've had to make attacks look like house- fires, heart attacks, and even one riot. We've only been able to save four people out of the dozens who have been attacked, and it's not going to get any better. That's where I come in. Fudge doesn't like Muggles, I know it. He doesn't like my department. He certainly doesn't like me. In fact, he knows that I've been gathering support within the Ministry, but he doesn't have any proof. If he has his way, I'll be fired soon. If that happens, I don't know what will happen to the Ministry."  
  
Mr. Weasley looked at Harry, not certain if he should regard the boy with pity or anxiety. He settled for both. Harry squirmed slightly under the gaze, but Mr. Weasley continued. "Dumbledore feels that it won't be long until we can't cover this up anymore. He also feels that You-Know-Who will probably come after you soon."  
  
Harry had been looking at the floor, but when Mr. Weasley paused at this statement, he looked up and met the older man's eyes. "Why is Fudge so obsessed with hushing this up?"  
  
"I don't know, Harry. At least, I don't know anything more than the obvious, which is that Fudge will look like a failure of You-Know-Who returns. Of course, the longer we go without fighting back, united, the more dangerous You-Know-Who becomes, to all of us, but especially to you. Beyond that, I think Dumbledore has a few of those answers. I'm going to contact him tomorrow, I promise. I have to tell him what's going on. Maybe we'll be able to piece some things together."  
  
Harry was looking a bit paler than he had been when he entered. Mrs. Weasley noticed that, got up and walked over to him. She crouched down by his chair, where he was staring at his hands. "Harry, are you going to be ok?" He nodded dumbly, and she sighed. She put her arms around his shoulders and gathered him into a hug, which he found himself returning, even though it seemed his body had gone numb. Mrs. Weasley pulled back after a minute, and her brown eyes met his. They were full of concern, just like a mother. Harry felt a pang for a moment, but pushed it back. Now was not the time to become emotional over yet another thing.  
  
"Harry, you need to go get some sleep. You look like you could be toppled with a feather. Would you like a sleeping potion? I have some in my cabinet."  
  
"Thank you, but no, Mrs. Weasley. I'll be fine." Harry stood up. "Thank you for telling me that, Mr. Weasley. I needed to hear it."  
  
Mr. Weasley clapped Harry on the shoulder firmly, watched him leave, then slowly closed the door behind him. "Molly, let's go to bed."  
  
*****************************************************************  
  
Holly sat outside the pub, at a small table, enjoying the fresh night air and a drink. She had found a lovely little room at the inn, more like a Bed and Breakfast, owned by a single family who had been very warm and welcoming to her. She had explored the shops and sights around town for the afternoon. It had been a wonderful day, although yet another person had approached her as though he recognized her. Yet again, he had been dressed on unusual clothing, and once he had realized Holly was not the person he knew, he had apologized profusely and left with a very puzzled expression on his face.  
  
She had shrugged it off, but even aside from that, something kept nagging at the back of her mind, sending chills up her back. She took a long swallow from her drink, then looked back down at her newspaper. Why are there never any positive headlines? The front page held picture of a burning building, then another image of the building after the fire. The headline had read:  
  
"Mystery Fires Claim Another House."  
  
How peculiar, she thought. The article described a string of fires that had taken place across England, mostly in the weeks since she had been on her trip. The latest one had been in a town not 50 miles from there. In every case, everyone inside had died, and there had been no conclusive evidence of faulty wiring, use of matches, or something hot left unattended. Even more peculiar, there had been no evidence of arson. Holly loved a good mystery, but not when people were dying.  
  
People around this little town were relaxed and content. She hoped that such things wouldn't happen to a place like this. A violent chill ran up her spine, forcing her to shudder visibly. She didn't like the thought that had followed. It was too much to think about. Premonitions were not what she wanted at the moment. She finished her drink and set the empty glass back down on top of a pound note for a tip.  
  
As she made her way back up the street towards the inn, something caught her attention. She ducked behind the corner of a shop and carefully peered through some shrubbery. Two people dressed in dark robes had emerged from the shadows near the inn. They spoke for a moment and turned towards the building. Further around the far side of the inn, she could see two more people dressed similarly. What was going on? She got a very strange feeling about those people, as though she had seen something like them before. In the dim light of the streetlamps, she could see one of them pull something from his robe. It was about a foot long, and looked like a straight, thin stick. No . . . it couldn't be . . .  
  
The other figures followed the motion immediately. The first one began to approach the front door. They were going to kill the people inside. The family who owned the inn and the other guests were all going to die. She couldn't just sit there, she had to do something. She shook her head. This was asinine. This was suicide. She sighed. This was the only option.  
  
She moved around the building as fast as she could, staying under the shadows. The first dark figure had almost reached the front door, followed closely by the second. The other two had approached the far side of the building, presumably the back door. Holly racked her brain. She was running out of time. A strange sense swept over her, and she could feel the malice radiating off the dark men. Her skin prickled. The first man raised the stick he carried, and she heard his voice say a long, complicated word she didn't recognize. The door burst open, and the men filed inside. The light coming from the door poorly illuminated the front steps and the walkway to the street. A second bang indicated that the back door had also been blown in. Holly then felt a second wave of emotion pass over her; pure terror. The people inside. Holly could almost see through their eyes. She could feel their terror, hear their thoughts. They were being rounded into the large sitting room that served as a lobby. They were all about to die. Holly felt her last reservations disappear and took off running for the front door. She was almost there when she heard the same voice cry out another word. "Crucio!"  
  
Holly doubled over and fell to the ground. She heard screaming and knew that someone inside was being tortured. She pulled herself to her feet and tried climbing the steps, but stumbled and fell, feeling the rough wood of the top step rise up to meet her head. She heard the voice again. "Finite Incantatum." The echoes of pain disappeared from her body, and as she looked up, another voice spoke. "What was that?" Footsteps.  
  
She hadn't yet pulled herself to her feet when one of the robed figures emerged from the doorway. She knew she was in trouble, but the man stopped and stared at her from under the hood of her robe. His thoughts weren't purely malicious anymore . . . he was shocked. "What on earth do we have here? Potter!" He grabbed her roughly by the collar and she felt herself being dragged inside. "Bloodwell! You'll never believe what just showed up at the doorstep!"  
  
Holly was thrown forward onto the floor and was finally able to look up into the faces of the attackers. When she did, the reaction was not what she had expected. "What in the name of Merlin?!?" the man who had dragged her in exclaimed. "I swore it was Potter! It's not only not him, it's a girl!" Holly felt her blood rise hotly to her face. "I am NOT a girl! I'm a woman."  
  
What a stupid thing to say, she thought to herself, but what did it matter? She was about to die anyway.  
  
"Well, well, well," the tallest man said, obviously the leader. He approached her, holding out what Holly was now sure was a wand. Why did that seem so familiar to her? Once again, it didn't matter. The man continued. "Don't you look a lot like Potter. Still, just a Muggle. What were you trying to accomplish, sneaking around out there? Causing trouble for us? I should hope not."  
  
"I'm going to stop you," said Holly, fully meaning it, but the words sounded empty to her ears. She could feel the fear from the people around her, the couple who owned the inn and two guests, but more fully, she could hear the thoughts of the men facing her. "Stop us, will you? Can you really? Let's see you stop this! Avada Kedavra!"  
  
A flash of green emerged from the tip of the man's wand and struck the owner of the inn directly in the chest. His eyes wide open in shock, he crumpled to the floor, obviously dead. He wife screamed and fell to the ground beside him, shaking his limp body. Holly stared up at the man, who was laughing pitilessly. "You're such a young fool. It's amazing, you almost act like Potter too."  
  
Holly was in a livid rage, any trace of personal fear forgotten. She lunged at the man, but before she could reach him, that word echoed in her ears. "Crucio!"  
  
The world exploded in pain around her. She couldn't see, she couldn't hear, nothing existed beyond the stars flashing across her eyes as she felt herself burning from the inside. She couldn't breathe, the pain was paralyzing her. Just when she was sure she would die, it stopped, and she found herself lying on the floor, gasping. She heard the man's voice through the fog in her head. "How amusing."  
  
Holly weakly raised her head from the floor. The dark men were laughing. She saw that the other victims of this attack were also on the floor, alive or dead, she couldn't tell. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. She looked down and saw that everyone but the owner was still breathing. She turned back to the dark man and their eyes met. She could feel his malice, his thoughts. He was playing with her, with the others, with their very lives, and he was enjoying it. She could feel the minds of the other men, and they were all alike. She touched her mind to theirs. Out of an instinct she didn't know she had, she fixed her thoughts around their minds, like a wrangler lassos cattle. She felt an unusual energy build up in her mind. The leader spoke again.  
  
"Now, my foolishly brave little Muggle, we've had our fun, but we like to end the night with a proper bonfire. It's time to say goodnight." He raised his wand towards her. "Avada . . ."  
  
She didn't know if she screamed out loud, or simply in the confines of her mind, but louder than a thunderclap, the force of the word overpowered the entire room. "STOP!"  
  
Holly looked around. All four men had fallen to the floor, unconscious. The victims were in a similar state. Holly felt weak. Her head was spinning, and the room wavered. She had no idea why it had worked, but it made sense to her, and for now, somehow, she was safe. A popping sound made her spin around to see another man, dressed in a robe thrown over . . . nightclothes? He looked alert and tense, in total contrast to a head full of bright red bed-hair. Any other time, he might have looked comical. Immediately, several other men appeared out of thin air. Holly should have found this completely bizarre, but in light of everything else from the evening, it wasn't. The red-haired man approached her, his eyes wide. "Are you ok? What happened?"  
  
Irrationally, she flashed one of her lopsided grins at him. "I could ask you the same question. What did happen here?"  
  
He didn't answer her. "How did these men end up unconscious?"  
  
"Well, the four in normal clothes were knocked out by them," she said, pointing at the robed men on the ground. "I think one of them is dead though. The rest of them, well, I did it."  
  
"You did what?" The red-haired man looked utterly confused. Holly barely noticed. Her vision was blurring and her own words barely made sense to her ears.  
  
"I did it. They killed that one man, and they were going to kill me, so I knocked them out." The room rocked under her feet and she felt herself toppling. Everything felt cold. She grabbed the edge of the chair. "I think I need to sit down."  
  
She didn't make it to the seat. She tipped forward into Mr. Weasley's arms and passed out.  
  
******************************************************************  
  
"Harry? Harry! Snap out of it, please!" Ron's voice was frantic. Harry had come back from talking to his parents and had related the whole story to Ron and Hermione. Instead of allowing himself to be pulled into a conversation, he had finished the tale and said bluntly, "I'm tired, I'm going to bed." He had crawled into his blankets, signaling an end to the conversation. Hermione had gone off to her blankets in Ginny's room, and Ron had blown out the candles. Ron seemed to have just fallen asleep when Harry had woken him up with a look of raw fear and pain on his face. When Ron had asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer. He had just stared straight forward, shaking. Ron had called out, which brought his mum, dad, and Hermione running into his room. Ron hadn't even noticed when his father suddenly Disapparated as an alert from the Ministry came in.  
  
Foreign sights and sounds had flashed in front of Harry's eyes. He had been pretending to sleep when pain, like the Cruciatus Curse, only muted, had coursed through his body. It had stopped, and Harry had watched as a group of Death Eaters cornered a group of Muggles. A wave of shock and terror almost threw him to the floor as he saw a flash of green light, the Killing Curse, wipe the life from the body of a Muggle man. Then, there had been the Cruciatus Curse again, stronger, more real. Pain burned through his body and mind, to the very core of his being, threatening to finish him off completely when it had stopped. He gasped for breath and looked up to see Ron and Hermione hovering over him. "Harry? Can you hear me?"  
  
Harry tried to catch his breath, then sat upright and replied weakly, "Ron, I don't know what just happened, but someone is being attacked, right now. Somebody has to stop it . . . have to stop them from killing . . . stop . . ." His voice faded off, and he shuddered again.  
  
"Ginny, get him some water." Mrs. Weasley said. The girl nodded and ran out the door.  
  
"Where's dad?" Ron asked.  
  
"He just got called by the Ministry. There's a Muggle attack."  
  
Ron nodded, his face pinched. He looked at Hermione, who was squeezing Harry's hand. "Harry? Harry, come on. Stay awake. Harry!"  
  
The world spun in front of Harry's eyes, and finally, he slipped into unconsciousness. 


	7. Missing Puzzle Pieces

Chapter 4  
  
A soft voice whispered in the back of Holly's mind. It was kind, gentle, yet it held a power she couldn't describe. "Oh, my sweet Holly- berries." Who called her that? "You were always stronger than you realized, and you'll need that strength, now more than ever. If I could have taken this burden from you, I would have, but I can't be with you right now. You'll have to rely on yourself, and you should have confidence for that reason. Who else would you rather rely on? Your heart will never have room for fear when courage runs so thick in your blood. You were right to change your name. Your father's name was never truly your own. You'll find your place. You'll never be alone, you know. I'll always be right here . . ."  
  
Holly felt a warm pressure on the middle of her forehead, and for a brief moment, she saw her grandmother's face. That vision faded into a whirl of images moving so fast she couldn't make sense of it. She saw a man with a white beard and a tremendous castle, then a cold, stark building and a harsh little man with a bowler hat. She felt Bram land on her shoulder, clacking with anxiety. She turned and saw a great mirror with writing across the frame. It read, "I show not your face, but your heart's desire." She approached the mirror and held her hand out to touch her own reflection through the shadows, but with a flash of surprise she realized that she was the reflection, she was inside the mirror, looking out. Holly wasn't seeing her own image. Her deep brown eyes met a set of brilliant green ones, and the face of a young man stared back at her. He could have been her brother, she thought, and she felt a need to step through the mirror when the image disappeared in a flash. A serpentine face glared at her with blood-red eyes. She wanted to run, but she was trapped in the mirror. A strange green light began to glow, building to a flashpoint. Staring fearlessly back at the eyes, she ran headlong into the mirror pane, sending shards of glass flying, and the image disappeared.  
  
Though the darkness, she heard voices, but couldn't make out the words. She felt herself being moved, and something soft was placed under her head. She tried to pull her eyelids open . . . what was this place? Who was speaking? She saw a shock of red hair, and a face that was looking down at hers, but everything was blurry. She tried to speak, but found that she couldn't move her lips. Everything felt numb. The man was speaking, but she still didn't understand what he was saying. She closed her eyes again, wishing for her head to stop spinning.  
  
The words became clearer. "No, don't close your eyes. She fainted again! Bowen, could you conjure up a wet cloth?" "Can't we use the Ennervate charm?" "I don't want to. She passed out, she wasn't stunned. Let her come around on her own." "When will Morgan and Pritchard come back with Fudge? It's been almost ten minutes." "I don't know if informing Fudge about this was a good idea." Holly heard fabric rustling and muffled footsteps. Something cool was placed above her eyes, and she felt the floor steady slightly under her back. The conversation continued around her. "At least the Aurors got the Death Eaters out of here. That's the first capture we've had since, well, you know."  
  
They must be talking about those dark men, Holly thought to herself. She wanted answers. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. "There we go!" said the red-haired man. "Just relax now. You've had a busy day."  
  
"What, where . . ." she began, trying to focus her view, then realizing something was missing. "Could I have my glasses please?"  
  
"Of course, sorry. They flew off when you fell over." The man reached into the pocket of his robe, unfolded her glasses and placed them on her face. The other man, Bowen, looked at her in surprise. "My god, Arthur. She looks just like Harry Potter."  
  
Holly felt a flash of annoyance. "Ok, I've had two other people say that to me today. Who exactly are you talking about?"  
  
The red-haired man looked surprised, then asked, "You don't know who Harry Potter is? You're not a Muggle though, or aren't you?"  
  
"What on earth is a Muggle?"  
  
His expression became extremely confused. "I think that would take too long to explain right now. My name is Arthur Weasley, and you are?"  
  
"Holly," she said, not wanting to reveal anything until she had some answers.  
  
"What's your last name?"  
  
Before she could reply, a popping noise announced the Apparition of another wizard in their midst. He was dressed like a prudish businessman, down to the neat bowler hat perched on his round head. Holly's heart skipped a beat. She recognized this man, from somewhere . . . from that dream.  
  
Bowen addressed him first. "Fudge, we have something a bit unusual on our hands. Thought you might want to take a look at . . ."  
  
Bowen never finished his sentence, as Fudge whipped a wand out of his pocket and cried, "Obliviate!" Bowen teetered, then sank slowly to the floor, a glazed look in his eyes.  
  
"What was the meaning of that, Fudge?" demanded Arthur. He made a move for his wand but froze as Fudge aimed his wand directly at Arthur's eyes.  
  
"Simple. This is something that could threaten everything I've worked so hard to build. Come off it, Weasley. I've put up with you for long enough. You're fired. I don't want you talking more than you already are. I silenced Crouch so that he wouldn't talk, just be grateful that you're not associated with dark wizards. You've already nearly ruined me. I'll be handling the matter of this child myself."  
  
"Child?!?" Holly was furious. "I'll have you know . . ."  
  
"Be quiet, girl, you don't understand any of this," Fudge snapped at her. He turned back to Arthur. "I'm sending you back to the ministry. Begin packing your things, and be gone by tomorrow night."  
  
Arthur Weasley was livid. He set his jaw and turned squarely towards the smaller wizard. "You're not going to get away with this, Fudge. The Daily Prophet will know the whole story by tomorrow. Dumbledore will . . ."  
  
"Dumbledore will do nothing, because he won't know. You won't know either." Fudge leveled his wand. "Obliviate!" Fudge took a paperweight from his pocket and placed it in Arthur's hand. While Holly watched, speechless, Fudge dragged Bowen over towards Weasley and moved his hand onto the paperweight. Fudge tapped his wand to the paperweight and in a flash, the two dazed wizards disappeared. Fudge turned to Holly.  
  
"Now, you're going to tell me everything that happened here."  
  
Holly appraised the man. She didn't trust him, she didn't like him. She certainly wasn't going to give him any information. Standing up as straight as she could, hoping that her physical weakness was no longer apparent, she asked, "Why should I?"  
  
Fudge was obviously not accustomed to being questioned by someone of Holly's stature. "Because I am the Minister of Magic, and I demand that you tell me at once."  
  
Holly folded her arms across her chest and looked down her nose at the stuffy little wizard. "Minister of Magic? Never heard of such a thing. I don't react well to demands. I don't owe you a thing. In fact, I figure I did the lot of you a favour. You were trying to catch those dark men, and I helped you. I want to know what you did to the men who helped me."  
  
Fudge looked flabbergasted. "You're a Muggle," he said blankly.  
  
"I've never heard of that either."  
  
"What did you do to those Death Eaters?" Fudge's expression wavered between shock and fear.  
  
"Apparently I stopped them somehow. Even if I knew how, I don't think I'd tell you."  
  
Fudge considered this for a moment, and decided that a change of tact was his only chance. It would be so much easier to wipe her memory, but what if she knew something? This was altogether too unusual, the circumstances, the total lack of knowledge of the magical world, the unconscious Death Eaters, and of course, the incredible resemblance to Potter. If he could get this girl to the Ministry, he could slip Veritaserum into her water . . .  
  
"What's your name?" he asked, adopting an oily smile.  
  
"Holly," she said staunchly, her stance not changing.  
  
"Holly what?" he pressed.  
  
"Holly."  
  
Fudge tried to suppress a grimace. "Well, Holly, I can tell you honestly that if we don't get you out of here very soon, more Death Eaters will be here to see what happened to their friends. You really don't want to be here when they arrive, and if you stay in the area, they'll hunt you down. In fact, they'll hunt you down almost anywhere in Britain, except one place."  
  
Holly leveled her eyes at the odd little man. As much as she didn't trust him, he was telling the truth about the Death Eaters coming to hunt her down. She thought back to what she felt in the minds of the men who had attacked her. She assessed her own situation. As strong as she was trying to appear, her legs were unsteady and she could still feel her blood rushing in her ears. She wouldn't last through another round with the Death Eaters, but she might stand a chance against this slimy little snake. His mind held greed, secrecy, jealousy, and anger, but it lacked the raw malice, hatred and violence from the minds of the others. She sighed. "Ok. I'll take my chances. Where are we going?"  
  
Fudge's eyes lit up like a set of Filibuster Fireworks. "To the Ministry of Magic headquarters. I'll have a room set for you immediately."  
  
"Ok, let me get my bag." Holly didn't like this one bit, but what choice did she have? Were all these people like this? Her mind raced as she climbed the stairs to the room she had rented. No, she thought to herself. That red-haired man, Arthur Weasley, wasn't like this man at all. He had been kind and authentically concerned for her, almost like a father.  
  
Father. What about her father? The father who had disapproved of everything she had ever done, from her hair to her name . . . she wasn't going to tell him about this. This was her one chance to break away from him completely, even though a small pang of guilt swept through her at the thought. She pushed the guilt aside. She was strong, she would stand on her own two feet. Thoughts rushed through her head as she crammed her belongings into her pack. Would she be able to handle what she was getting herself into? What was she getting herself into, for that matter? Then words echoed in her ears, her grandmother's voice, as though out of a dream.  
  
"Your heart will never have room for fear when courage runs so thick in your blood. You were right to change your name. Your father's name was never truly your own. You'll find your place."  
  
Her answer lay in her grandmother's words. She looked across the room to the mirror, staring at a face that didn't bear the slightest resemblance to her own father. She had once prayed wistfully that by some miracle she really was not related to the man. She didn't act like him, she didn't think like him, and she didn't look like him. She looked like . . . that boy in the mirror, from her dream. Perhaps she had seen her grandmother's memory of the man she had once loved. Holly had sworn the man was long dead, but upon hearing his name repeatedly that day, she wondered if perhaps there was a chance he was still alive. She realized she was absentmindedly clutching the necklace her grandmother had given her. She held it up in front of her eyes and traced the delicate lines of the lion's head with her finger. She turned it over, and, as she had done an uncountable number of times before, she read the tiny inscription on the back.  
  
"To Jan, My Love Forever, Harry Potter."  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry had yet another strange dream. He was standing in a shadowy, long- forgotten room in Hogwarts, and had found himself facing the Mirror of Erised once again. He watched as images flashed across the face of the mirror. He saw Dumbledore and Hogwarts. He saw Cornelius Fudge. A familiar raven flew across the glass. Where was his family? He had always seen his family in this mirror. He was searching the shadows within the mirror desperately when he saw his own reflection moving towards him. The figure emerged more thoroughly from the darkness, and he had just reached out his hand to touch his reflection when something stopped him. He was staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, not his own emerald irises. They were set in a face so similar to the one that always looked back at him from his mirror, except this was the face of a young woman. He continued his movement to touch the image in the mirror when a light flashed, erasing the confusing vision. It was replaced by the blood-red eyes of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a surge of pain lancing across his forehead. He made a move to run, but before he had turned away from the hideous face, an explosion rang out. The mirror had shattered from the inside, sending glass flying everywhere. Harry shielded his face as the dream faded away completely.  
  
He was vaguely aware of being lifted onto something soft and covered with blankets before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. ************************************************************************  
Ron hadn't slept all night. He refused to leave his best friend's side until Harry woke up. Hermione had tried several times to get him to sleep, but Ron wouldn't hear of it.  
  
"I can't sleep, Hermione. I'm too worried." Ron was hunched over, sitting on a rickety wooden chair. His face was cupped in his hands, and he was watching Harry intently, as though the boy were going to die in front of him. Ron had insisted on putting Harry into his bed, and when he had lifted him onto the mattress, he had been shocked at how small Harry really was. Despite his stature, Harry had always seemed strong, and in addition to being Ron's best friend, he was also something of a hero to him. Harry had gotten past Voldemort at the age of eleven, again at age twelve. He had defeated dragons and had conquered the Quidditch pitch. He had survived yet another onslaught by Voldemort just last spring. Now, he was lying on Ron's bed, unconscious, looking like the small teenage boy that he was.  
  
"Ron, there's nothing you can do. He needs to sleep it off, and you need to sleep too." Hermione sat lightly against the edge of the bed. "Don't you think I'm worried too?"  
  
Ron tipped his face up to look at Hermione. "I know you are, Herm. You worry constantly, and that's why you always know what to do. Me . . . what if I didn't worry enough? I've spent the entire summer playing around, when maybe Harry and I should have been studying that book, or practicing Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe there was something I could have done. He's my best friend, and I can't do a thing to help him."  
  
"Oh Ron," Hermione said. She moved off the bed and sat on the floor next to Ron's chair. "You did the best thing you knew to do for him. You made him laugh, you gave him some time away from his worries. He needed that as much as anything else we could have done. I probably worry too much, you were right."  
  
Ron looked at Hermione incredulously. "Did you just say I was right?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "He'll have more than enough to worry about soon. We all will. We'll get through this, one battle at a time."  
  
Ron shook his head. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. I've never been that good at anything. You and Harry could always handle anything, but what help was I? I practically abandoned him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I don't even make a good friend."  
  
"Ron, you help more than you know. You're a wonderful friend. Harry was miserable without you." Her tone changed slightly. "Honestly, I was too."  
  
Ron nodded and looked back at Harry. "You really think he'll be ok?"  
  
"Yes, I do. And you'll be ok too." She leaned her head against his knee and closed her eyes. Ron put his hand on her shoulder, and they sat there, wordlessly, waiting for Harry to wake.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Harry opened his eyes and rolled over. He stretched, yawned, and noticed that he was not in his cot on the floor but on Ron's bed. He reached to the nightstand for his glasses and surveyed the room to see Ron, fast asleep on a chair with his head tilted awkwardly backwards, snoring. Harry looked down and saw Hermione's head resting against Ron's knee, also asleep. Unsure whether to wake them, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed towards the bedroom door, intent on a hot shower to soothe the stress from his body, as though it could soothe the stress in his mind. He pulled the door open with a loud creak.  
  
"Huh? What?" Ron's sleepy voice mumbled. He shook his head and turned around in his chair, waking Hermione, who was immediately on her feet.  
  
"Harry! You're awake!" she cried.  
  
"Yes, I'm awake, and I'm going to take a shower," Harry responded, as though it were just another normal day, after a normal night's sleep.  
  
Ron had been on his feet only a moment after Hermione, and had crossed the room to Harry. "Harry, are you sure you're ok?" he asked, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. "What happened last night? You had me scared stiff."  
  
Harry reached up and softly removed Ron's hands from his shoulders, saying, "I'm not sure what happened last night, but I feel fine now. I'll tell you what I remember, which isn't too much, but first, can I please take a shower?"  
  
Ron nodded and reluctantly backed down. Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "Come on, Ron. Don't worry so much, you sound like a mother hen!"  
  
Harry and Ron both gaped at Hermione for a minute, eyes wide. Hermione broke the standstill with a laugh. She moved to Harry, and firmly pushed him towards the open door. "You go take a shower, and we'll meet you downstairs for some breakfast, ok?"  
  
Harry was too stunned to disagree. When he had left the room, Hermione sat down on Ron's bed and covered her face with her hands. Ron was still watching her in surprise when he noticed her shoulders shaking. "Herm?"  
  
She looked up. "That was harder than I thought."  
  
Most of the Weasley family had already gathered around the table for breakfast by the time Harry joined them.  
  
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "How are you feeling dear?"  
  
Harry had already sat down and was reaching for the eggs. "Hungry," he said with a smile. "Good morning everyone."  
  
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances but let the issue pass. Ron jumped into a conversation about the Chudley Cannons with Harry ("No, really, this is going to be their year!") while Fred and George experimented with breakfast ("Barking Bacon anyone?"). Hermione was speaking softly with Mrs. Weasley when the Weasley's unusual clock chimed. "Oh, Arthur is home!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed with relief. "I hate it when he leaves in the middle of the night like that."  
  
Harry elbowed Ron. "When did you father leave? What happened?" Ron shrugged as the kitchen door swung open.  
  
"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley jumped up and quickly hugged her husband, then she stopped and saw the look on his face. "Arthur? What happened?"  
  
Mr. Weasley's expression was exhausted, but he also had a strange dulled look to his eyes. "I've been fired."  
  
Everyone in the room was immediately standing around Mr. Weasley, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Weasley took him by the arm and led him to the sitting room couch. Everyone sat around him, still in shock.  
  
"We got to the attack last night, and it was all over. Bodies everywhere, but the building hadn't burned down. Fudge says I should have been there sooner, I could have saved those people, but I was too late. He fired me. I've got to get my things from the ministry by tonight."  
  
"He can't do that!" yelled Fred.  
  
"Not a chance!" George seconded his twin. "There's got to be something we can do!"  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No, boys. It's too late. I'll eat some breakfast, take a nap, and go retrieve my things."  
  
"Arthur, dear, we have to call Dumbledore. We were going to talk to him yesterday, for Harry, and with everything that happened last night, we simply must do that immediately." Mr. Weasley nodded slightly. Mrs. Weasley put her arm softly across her husband's shoulders and guided him up from the couch. "I'll contact Dumbledore while you rest." She turned towards the rest of the room. "You kids go keep yourselves busy for now. Fred, George, now is not the time for explosions, you understand?"  
  
With that, she turned and led Mr. Weasley to the stairs.  
  
"I don't like that look on Dad's face," said Ron. "I know he's tired, but he would never give in to Fudge like that. Something's really wrong. Can you see it? Hey Harry?"  
  
Harry was staring at the wall. "That doesn't make sense." Harry mumbled to himself.  
  
"What doesn't make sense?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Those people weren't dead."  
  
"How do you . . . come on. Let's talk about this outside." Ron led the way out the door. The three remained silent until they had settled themselves under a large tree. Harry needed no prompting as he launched into a full description of everything he had seen and felt the night before.  
  
"So," he finished, "what your father said doesn't match what I saw when I passed out. I was sure most of those people were alive. I saw your dad myself, Ron. Somebody was alive when he got there." Harry leaned back against the tree. "This really doesn't make sense."  
  
"What about that dream you had afterwards?" Hermione piped up.  
  
"I don't remember the dream too well, Hermione. It went too fast. I remember the Mirror of Erised, but I didn't see my family in it. I thought I saw my own reflection, but it wasn't me. Then I saw Voldemort, and the mirror just exploded."  
  
"But your reflection that wasn't you . . . who was it?" Hermione prodded further.  
  
"I don't know, but she looked like me."  
  
"She?"  
  
Harry was about to answer when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the back door. "Ron! Harry! Hermione! Come inside, we have a visitor!"  
  
Harry picked himself up immediately. "It's Dumbledore. Come on!"  
  
They filed into the sitting room to find Ron's parents talking with the Hogwarts Headmaster. The bearded wizard looked at the three teenagers over the rims of his spectables and smiled softly. "Ah, good to see you all."  
  
"Hello Professor Dumbledore," the said in unison. Harry stepped forward. "Sir, I was wondering . . ."  
  
Dumbledore stopped him. "In a moment, Harry. First, I think we all need to examine the events of last night. Harry, what can you tell me about Mr. Weasley's telling of the event?"  
  
Harry looked at Mr. Weasley. He didn't want to call the man a liar. "I don't know, sir. I wasn't there, so I can't really say for certain."  
  
"Harry," Mr. Weasley cut in. "I won't be offended. My own recollection of last night seems unusual. Go on."  
  
Harry nodded and took a deep breath. He hated retelling things like this. He launched into as detailed a description as he could possibly manage, which didn't amount to much in his estimation. After finishing his tale, he looked back and forth across the faces of the adults in the room. Mr. Weasley was nodding slowly, Mrs. Weasley was slightly pale. Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Thank you, Harry. This confirms my suspicions." Dumbledore turned to Mr. Weasley. "Fudge used a memory charm on you, Arthur. This was obviously the first time that a Death Eater attack had been stopped before all the witnesses were dead, or incoherent. He wanted to cover it up. Something about that attack had him worried, and there are only so many things that would concern him so greatly."  
  
"Is there anything you can do to reverse the memory charm, Albus?" Mr. Weasley asked.  
  
"Unfortunately, there is not. I did not cast it, so I can not lift it. The only other way to reverse memory alteration is by directly accessing the mind of the victim, and I have never been fully skilled in that area." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Don't worry Arthur. We'll uncover the rest of this soon enough. But right now, I believe I need to speak with Harry alone."  
  
Mr. Weasley pulled himself out of his chair, still looking extremely tired. "I should probably return to my little nap. I can't believe how tired I am. Come along, Molly."  
  
Mrs. Weasley moved to follow him, then turned and looked over her shoulder at the teenagers. "Ron, Hermione, perhaps you'd like to play a game of Wizard's Chess?" she said softly.  
  
"Yes mum," Ron responded. He clapped Harry on the shoulder as he moved towards the door. Hermione followed him, but stopped in front of Harry and looked up at him. "You'll be fine, Harry. I know you will be," she whispered. "I meant it when I said you're a great wizard. Don't forget that." She squeezed his arm and walked out the door.  
  
Harry turned to Dumbledore, who was watching this exchange with a somewhat amused expression on his face. "Ah, Harry. I'm sure you have many questions."  
  
Harry nodded. He looked at the wizard in front of him. Suddenly, every question he had ever wanted to ask came rushing out in a torrent. "What's going on, sir? I mean, it's obvious that this all has to do with Voldemort, everything does, but why did you never tell me Mrs. Figg was a witch? What is important about that book? Mrs. Figg and Mr. Weasley both said that they weren't the right people to answer all my questions, but I'm not even sure what all those questions are! Why my parents? Why me? What was Voldemort after? What happened last night? Why . . ."  
  
Dumbledore stopped him cold, raising his hands in the air. "Harry, Harry! Please, calm down!"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir." Harry's cheeks reddened with embarrassment. He looked down at the floor.  
  
Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.  
  
"It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything."  
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Thank you to everyone who has submitted a review! Yes, I was evil and decided to leave a cliff-hanger. It will be well worth the wait, I assure you. The next chapter may take me a week to write. It will probably be very long, although I may decide to break it into two parts so that I can post it sooner. I'll warn you though, we'll be pulling up little details from as far back as the first book in the next chapter. Time to put the puzzle pieces together!  
  
One other thing . . . if you're reading this and haven't submitted a review, I have no way of knowing if anyone is even reading this! I post faster and work harder when I know people are reading, and waiting for the next installment. Just a reminder! 


	8. Finding the Lost Pieces

Chapter 5  
  
"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Sit." He indicated the chair across from his own.  
  
Harry did as he was told. Everything felt slightly surreal. He sat slowly on the edge of the chair, his focus completely centered on the Headmaster. He suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Dumbledore had to say. The answers held more dark possibilities than the questions. Finally, Harry nodded. Dumbledore leaned forward and began to speak.  
  
"Voldemort is by no means the first Dark Wizard to rise to power. Different wizards have used different means by which to gain power, and they all have one common thread. They all wish to control people. They all controlled people through fear. Some used mass murder, some used torture, and some used magic. Many used a combination, yet all their methods had one thing in common. The control they had over people was indirect. A person might be physically forced to do something, or even have their will clouded over by the Imperious curse, but that only went so far. Nobody had the power to alter the inner workings of the human mind.  
  
"At a young age, Voldemort had already realized this. He had gathered information about many Dark Wizards, including, but not exclusively, Salazar Slytherin. He analyzed their methods, and as cunning as he was, he discovered the common thread to their weaknesses. He decided that the ultimate power lay in the ability to control the mind, the very soul, of a person. He began a search for the source of this power. That search led him to you."  
  
Harry balked. What could Dumbledore be talking about? "Sir? Me? What does that have to do with me? I can't control people's minds!"  
  
"I know that, Harry, I know." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "That ability is the most highly developed aspect of the power of the Mind Touch."  
  
"The Mind Touch?" Harry repeated vaguely. "I've never heard of that."  
  
"I'm not surprised. It's quite rare. Almost as rare as Parseltongue. You have been monitored for signs of this ability since you were a baby. The only current indication that you may possess this power is your ability to see and hear the thoughts of Voldemort, but I feel that is due to the connection that was created when he gave you that scar.  
  
"Not many people are even aware of the real reason Voldemort tried to kill you. In fact, there are only three people alive who do know. Most people assumed the attacks on your family were due to your grandfather's history."  
  
"My grandfather?" Nobody had ever spoken of Harry's grandparents to him before.  
  
"Your grandfather was a talented Auror, Harry. He was also involved in the defeat of the dark wizard, Grindelwald, as was I. He was awarded the Order of Merlin for that mission. The magical community knew your family's name, and regarded it with high respect. Most people assumed that Voldemort wanted the Potter lineage destroyed because if your grandfather could help bring down such a powerful wizard, Voldemort must have feared him and his descendants. That is only partially the truth."  
  
"That name sounds familiar. Sir, who was Grindelwald?"  
  
"He was more commonly known amongst the Muggle population as Adolph Hitler. You probably remember that name. We don't speak of it often. Just before his defeat, Muggles started to suspect Grindelwald's use of magic. He not only would have killed the massive populations of Muggles that he did, he would have exposed the entire Wizarding world." Dumbledore paused and waited for Harry to absorb this information. Harry was sitting perfectly still, staring at a frayed thread on the arm of his chair. He finally nodded, and Dumbledore continued.  
  
"Grindelwald was defeated by the Mind Touch. There was a spy who worked with me on that very mission, and this spy had that ability. Unfortunately, Voldemort believed your grandfather to be that spy. He suspected, as with most magical abilities, that the dormant power had been passed down through your bloodline. By killing you, his intent was to absorb this ability for himself. You were the key to his domination of the Wizarding World."  
  
Harry's head snapped upright with a jolt. His entire body had gone numb, his heart was racing, and the world seemed to have frozen around him. He had never wanted to believe that there really was a reason Voldemort had wanted to kill him. Harry sank backwards into his chair, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. When he spoke, his mouth was dry.  
  
"Sir, who was this spy?"  
  
Dumbledore frowned. "Alas, I do not know. Nobody knows."  
  
"But you said you worked with him. Didn't you?" Desperation made his voice crack slightly.  
  
"Harry, one of the things that made the Mind Touch so valuable for a spy was the ability to completely alter a person's perceptions of things, people, events, and more. Nobody remembers who this spy was because he blanked the minds of the people he worked with. The only reason I know there had been a spy was because I had led the mission and I have records of the reports the spy had given me." Dumbledore sighed. "It is unlikely that the person will ever be found. Every Dark Wizard in the world would have wanted to kill him after Grindelwald's downfall."  
  
Harry considered this carefully for a moment. It was almost too much information for him to absorb, but he couldn't let himself loose his focus now. He began twirling the piece of string on the arm of the chair. There was a question he wanted to ask, just beyond the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to ask the question, although he couldn't quite put it into words, when Dumbledore spoke again.  
  
"Voldemort thought it was your grandfather because of information one of his spies located. The spy with the Mind-Touch was believed to have been working in the United States at the time, and your grandfather happened to have been working there at that same time, on behalf of the British Ministry of Magic as part of an international effort to stop Grindelwald. Voldemort's spy found the record of your grandfather and made that connection, not realizing that records of the real spy would have either been erased or have never existed."  
  
Harry regarded Dumbledore for a moment, and for the first time since he had known the great wizard, Dumbledore seemed hesitant. That wasn't everything, Harry knew. Dumbledore was still hiding something, and Harry had a suspicion about what Dumbledore might be avoiding. "Who . . ."  
  
"The wizard who uncovered the files about your grandfather, Harry, was Severus Snape."  
  
A strange fire began in the pit of Harry's stomach. It crawled up his backbone and spread across his shoulders. Harry's face contorted with a fury he couldn't begin to understand or to express. He felt his face grow hot and his eyes begin to sting. He looked up at Dumbledore, who was watching him with sympathy. Harry didn't want sympathy. He didn't need it. He needed his family, but they were long dead. His family, his mum and dad, his entire existence had been ruined, and now, Harry had one more link in the chain that had caused the destruction. If Snape had never found those files, if only . . . but he had.  
  
Harry's throat constricted and he felt his shoulders give an involuntary shudder. Dumbledore reached out with a hand to comfort him, but Harry pushed it away. He forced himself to speak through his building anguish. "How could you?" he choked. "You trust the man who led my mum and dad straight to Voldemort? How can you trust him? Snape . . . he . . . I . . ." Harry's voice left him completely. He struggled against the rage and despair threatening to overwhelm him. With an unnatural jerk, he pulled himself out of the chair and began pacing the room in a daze. Dumbledore watched silently. Harry finally walked to the windowsill, his back turned towards the older wizard, and silent tears burned down his cheeks. He closed his eyes, praying again that it would all go away, that none of it had ever happened. He bit at the inside of his lip to keep himself from making a sound. He had sat in Snape's class almost every day for the past four years. He had despised the greasy-haired potions master enough already, but this was another matter completely.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and realized his glasses had fogged up. He took them off and wiped them on his shirt, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Finally, he turned and looked at Dumbledore hopelessly. "Why?"  
  
"Harry, there is a real reason I trust Professor Snape. You remember when I told you that your father saved his life?" Harry nodded, not really wanting to hear this, but needing to do just that. "As you know, that creates a very strong bond between two wizards."  
  
Harry's fury was dulled slightly as confusion took its place. "But Snape said that my dad didn't do anything heroic, that he was just too cowardly to follow through with a prank. He hated my father."  
  
"Yes, Harry, I will admit that Snape was not altogether fond of your father, but there are truly bonds that can not be broken," Dumbledore said carefully. "Professor Snape risked his life for your father in return, but sadly, the debt was never truly paid. Voldemort was at the height of his power just before he attacked your parents. He was expecting to make an enormous gain in power with that attack. It was the day before the attack that Severus Snape defected from Voldemort."  
  
Harry's eyes went wide, not knowing how to take this new piece of information.  
  
"Snape not only defected from Voldemort, he also brought valuable information with him. He told me about the impending attack. He told me how he had found the information about your grandfather. He confirmed my suspicions of why Voldemort was after your family in the first place. He swore that he would spy against Voldemort for us. The only thing he couldn't do was stop the attack."  
  
"Why?" Harry felt himself choking up again.  
  
"Because the Fidelis Charm had already been performed, Harry. Your parents were not only hidden from Voldemort, but also from the world, myself included." A small tear threatened to leak from the corner of the old wizard's eye. "I could not contact them; I could not find them to bring them to Hogwarts. There was nothing that could be done. The very spell that was to protect them also killed them.  
  
"We were determined to ensure your protection after the disaster with your parents. We could not use the Fidelis Charm on your aunt and uncle's house. They were Muggles, and would never concede to abide by the constraints necessary for the charm to work. Instead, we used something that would ward Voldemort from the Dursley's house in a completely different way."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow.  
  
"The love your mother had for you when she sacrificed her life to save yours was one of the strongest forms of magic possible for a normal witch or wizard to use. That magic kept Voldemort from touching you, as you remember. What you would not be aware of yet is that most forms of magic must to be grounded to a physical object to maintain strength. Your aunt and uncle's house was used to ground the spell, as they were your only living relatives and the only guardians we could leave you with at the time. The protection your mother gave to you would remain strong as long as you returned there at least once a year. It would also ward Voldemort from the house itself. Arabella Figg has dedicated herself to maintaining that bond, putting herself at great risk."  
  
"Uh, sir?" Harry interrupted. Dumbledore tipped his head indicating for Harry to speak. Harry swallowed and asked, "When Voldemort, well, used my blood to get his body back, he could touch me. He even showed the Death Eaters he could, to prove it. Does that mean the spell was broken?"  
  
Dumbledore's jaw set itself forcefully as he spoke. "No, Harry, the spell is certainly not broken."  
  
"Then how . . .?"  
  
"For now, all you must know about that is that love is one of the greatest counterspells against hate. The Dark Arts draw their power from hate, Harry. Those are both forms of what we call Deep Magic, and there are other varieties of Deep Magic as well."  
  
Harry shifted in his seat and looked up in confusion. Dumbledore had said something like this before, it seemed.  
  
Dumbledore clasped his hands in his lap. "The spells you learn at Hogwarts are Simple magic. Yes Harry, even the Patronus charm. Those kinds of magic are worked with a wand, they involve objects, and are external. Deep magic revolves around the inner workings of the mind and soul of a wizard, and is much stronger."  
  
A whole new set of realizations were dawning on Harry. He took a shaky breath and said, "Like the protection my mum gave me, and the Mind Touch too?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled for the first time since the conversation had begun. "Yes Harry, exactly like that."  
  
Harry nodded slowly and continued think aloud. "That's how I must have survived the Killing Curse, because love is a Deep magic, and the Killing Curse is Simple magic. Isn't it?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. His bright blue eyes met Harry's green ones. "Harry, your mother's love prevented Voldemort from physically touching you. Your bond with him through your wands prevented any sort of normal duel with you. Those are rooted in Deep magic, even the wands, for the wand chooses the wizard based on matters of the soul. Still, those kinds of things could not stop the Killing Curse."  
  
Harry slouched back in his chair. "So, nobody knows how I survived. I'm still just a big freakish mystery with a scar."  
  
"Perhaps not, Harry. I do have an idea of how you survived."  
  
Harry was immediately on the edge of his seat again. "How?!?"  
  
Dumbledore chuckled before becoming serious again. "Some things are essentially written in stone, Harry. You were protected in many ways. Your mother was quite brilliant in her planning. We were not altogether surprised to find you alive the night your parents died. It was actually expected. What we were unsure of was the means by which you survived. The Killing Curse works by pulling the mind and soul from the physical body, not as a Dementor does, which only attacks the soul, but through a totally different mechanism. It can't be stopped, but it can be diverted." Dumbledore's eyes burned intensely as he spoke. "The only way to do that is to send it into the mind of another person. The only way to do that is with the Mind Touch."  
  
Harry's jaw had fallen several inches at this revelation. He closed his mouth and blinked several times. "What does that mean, sir? It can't possibly be me who did that?"  
  
"That's what I was never sure about. Usually such abilities would emerge by now, but they haven't. The only other possibility is that somebody else was involved that night." He held up a hand as Harry started to ask a question. "No, Harry, I don't know who."  
  
Harry tipped his head to the side. A strange thought was buzzing in his mind, something he had been wondering for years. "Sir, can you read minds?"  
  
Dumbledore smile softened and said lightly, "I've had a bit of practice. No natural talent, mind you. For example, true Seers are rare, but most anyone can learn some of the more crude methods of divination. A strong witch or wizard can learn crude methods of reading minds. No, Harry, I do not possess the Mind Touch."  
  
Harry cracked a weak smile. "I had always wondered about that, sir."  
  
"Of course, there are other ways to know what is happening in all corners of Hogwarts when you are the Headmaster," he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "The walls have ears, you know."  
  
Harry looked at his hands again, shaking his head, but still smiling. "I'm almost afraid to learn how much you've heard from the walls, sir."  
  
"And who said I was about to tell you, young man?" Dumbledore leaned back casually in his chair, and began pulling lightly on the edge of his beard, thinking. "There is also one more matter. Have you begun reading that book Mrs. Figg gave you?"  
  
Harry looked at Dumbledore with disbelief. It all came back to that book, after all that? He felt slightly sheepish as he said, "Actually, no Professor, I haven't. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's ok, Harry, but I recommend you begin looking through it. That book contains a wealth of information from a very unusual source. I told you that Voldemort had gathered information about the rise and fall of many dark wizards from the past. I hadn't told you where he put that information."  
  
The warm, sunny room suddenly felt much colder on Harry's thin frame. "You mean that book . . . that Mrs. Figg gave me . . . was Voldemort's?" He shivered and automatically covered his arm where the basilisk's fang had once pierced him. His mind raced back to the ghastly results of his encounter with Tom Riddle's diary.  
  
"Yes Harry. That book contains all the information Voldemort gathered from the time he was in Hogwarts to the time of his initial downfall. Snape was the person who brought it to me, just before the attack on your parents. I feel it is important for you to learn this information. I trust you can understand why."  
  
Harry began to nod, then tipped his face forward into his hands and shook his head as though trying to shake off the weight that had settled on his mind. Dumbledore leaned forward and placed his hand softly on Harry's back. This time, Harry didn't brush him off. "Harry, you're stronger than you think. You've survived and succeeded where many more experienced wizards would have failed miserably. You need to trust yourself."  
  
The young wizard pulled his face from his hands. "How can I? I've caused so much destruction, been at the center of so much death and pain. How can I trust myself?"  
  
"Very simple, Harry. There is no person in the world that you should prefer to trust than yourself." Dumbledore clapped him solidly on the back then once again leaned back in his own chair. "Now, I would be willing to bet that Ron has already finished his game of chess with Hermione and will need someone else to play against shortly."  
  
"How do you figure that, sir?"  
  
"Because he's standing at the doorway waiting for you," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. Harry's head snapped around to see Ron's eyes and a shock of red hair poking around the edge of the door. He turned back to Dumbledore, who said, "Go along and have some fun. Relax. You'll need it. There are still some tense issues that must be addressed, but they are out of your hands, and you needn't worry about what you can't change."  
  
Dumbledore stood and shook out his robes, then placed his hand on top of Harry's head. "You do have courage, Harry. It runs thick in your veins. You are a Gryffindor for a reason. By the way, Happy Birthday, Harry." The twinkle returned the Headmaster's eyes, and he inclined his head slightly towards Harry in farewell.  
  
With that, Dumbledore stepped back from the bewildered boy and Disapparated. Harry turned around in his chair and faced Ron, who had moved fully into the door frame. Hermione was standing behind him. Both of them had a million questions written all over their faces. Harry shook his head and said, "We have to talk."  
  
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I'm not talking. Not even my name. I don't care what he does, what he says, I'm not talking, not until I get some answers of my own. Holly paced back and forth across the small but well-furnished room Fudge had provided for her. True, her current situation was better than the one she probably would have received had she stayed at the inn that night. Fudge had no intent to hurt her, but he seemed driven by one obsession. He wanted to know what had happened the night before, and he didn't want anyone else to know. What could be so important to him about that, and why wouldn't he give her any answers? Still more troublesome, there seemed to be no way out. The door was locked, but not with any lock she could see. All of her highly valued lock-picking skills were useless. The window was too high and small for her to use as an escape route. Even if she made it past the door, she had a feeling that she wouldn't get far, not that she knew where to go from there anyway.  
  
When she had arrived at the Ministry building the previous night, she had appeared within that very room, and at the time, had been so exhausted that she didn't care. The bed was comfortable, and she had slept very deeply. The dreamless sleep had been very welcomed after such a long period of restless nights, but even then, she woke feeling drained. Being tired wasn't going to be her only problem that morning, she soon discovered.  
  
Fudge had arrived with a breakfast for her, but immediately she'd known he had put something in it. When she had refused to eat it, he had become irritated and wanted to know why. When she told him that she knew he had tainted it with something, he had stared at her in disbelief, and demanded that she tell him how she had known. Once again, Holly had crossed her arms and refused to speak until she got some answers for herself. The little man had crammed his bowler hat back on his head and stormed out of the room.  
  
Since then, he had been back two more times. The first time, he had practically pleaded with her, which did nothing but elicit a laugh from the young woman. The last time had almost scared Holly to death. Fudge must have worked himself into a small fit while he had been out of the room, for he had burst in with his wand already in his hand, aimed directly at Holly. She had found herself on her feet, with her back against the wall before she had time to consider her reaction. Fudge had spoken to her, saying, "Well, young lady, I'm sorry it has to be this way, but you won't cooperate. Imperio!"  
  
Holly's head felt as though someone was grabbing her sharply at the temples, as though someone were trying to get a grip directly on her mind. Fudge said to her, "Now, you are going to tell me everything."  
  
She had looked at him incredulously through a growing headache and said, "Give me one good reason why."  
  
Annoyance replaced fear quickly for Holly. In the meantime, Fudge had turned a peculiar shade of pale green. He shook his head. "No, no, that's not possible. That can't be possible!" Fudge lowered his wand slowly. Who was this little brat? Why couldn't he crack her? She was practically a child! It suddenly dawned on him that this girl would be more trouble to him than she was worth. She wasn't going to talk, she knew he had put the Veritaserum in her food, and the Imperious curse hadn't even begun to work. He looked at the girl, who was now rubbing her temples lightly as though working out a mild headache.  
  
She had to go back. He couldn't keep her here, he couldn't get her to cooperate, so he would just send her back. He would just wipe her memory as he had done with all the other Muggles at the scene of the attack, and it would all be over, like a bad dream. He raised his wand again, and whispered "Obliviate!"  
  
Instead of the dazed stupor Fudge had expected, Holly looked as though she'd merely been slapped lightly across the face. She shook her head as though trying to clear a few cobwebs from it, then turned sharply towards him. Fudge took a step backwards in surprise, and fell over Holly's hiking pack, which was lying on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, but this time, his back was against the wall, and Holly was walking towards him. Her dark eyes were blazing with a kind of fire Fudge had only seen a few times before, in witches and wizards much older than this girl. Her eyes burned into his as she spoke two words. "Get out."  
  
Fudge scrambled for the door and slammed it shut behind him, immediately replacing the locking and silencing charms he had put there that morning. He rushed back to his office and locked himself in. His heart was racing as he slumped against the wall, balling his hands into fists. What kind of mess had he gotten himself into? Nobody could know the girl was in there. Nobody.]  
  
Holly tried the door. No luck, it had already been locked again. She sat down on the bed and flopped backwards onto her pillow. A lot of good that had done. Perhaps she hadn't made the wisest choice, she admitted to herself, coming with Cornelius Fudge. She had known the man wasn't trustworthy, but he hadn't lied about the Death Eaters going to find her. She sighed. At least she was still alive, she reminded herself. Unfortunately, she was also still trapped.  
  
She looked up at the ceiling. She could tell there were other people in the building, quite a few of them. They were all going about their business, completely oblivious to the fact that she was there. She also noticed something unusual. There was a strange tension in the building. Some people were feeling an intense anticipation, while others were angry or distraught. It was odd, but vague. When she had tried to focus on it, all she managed to do was to give herself a bigger headache. Whatever she had done the night before must have wiped her out more than she'd thought. Deciding there was nothing she could do about it, she resumed the little project she had begun that morning.  
  
Holly rolled onto her stomach and reached over the edge of the bed and into her hiking pack. She withdrew the roll of letters she had found in the box her mum had left to her. She had been reading through them slowly all day, being careful to put them away when she felt Fudge approaching. At first, the letters hadn't made sense to her, but slowly, the pieces had begun to fall into place. It was a connection to her past, to her family. She was finally getting a chance to know her grandmother and grandfather. She was also learning a lot of very, very interesting things. She pulled out the next one from the roll.  
  
"Dear Jan, They've been keeping me plenty busy here at Headquarters since you left last Wednesday. We've actually run two complete missions since then. We caught a group of four dark wizards yesterday who were trying to get information from a group of American scientists using Veritaserum. Two days later, we found a mole who had been placed almost at the heart of Military Intelligence. I ran that mission myself. I seem to be developing quite a skill for that sort of thing. I may even consider a career as an Auror if I ever return to Britain. But then, I may not want to. I'll be happy to be wherever you are. I hope this will all be over soon. Maybe we could even look at settling down together. It doesn't matter where I am, as long as we can get away from all this mess, find a quiet little place. I wish they'd let me know where you go on these missions of yours, but I know that's not possible. The security risk is too high. I'd say that it doesn't matter, as long as you know I'm thinking of you, but then I remember that you already know I'm thinking of you. Listen to me! I'm chattering like a fool. You're going to have quite the pile of letters waiting for you when you get home. I swear Bram laughs at me every time I give her another letter to bring to you. She shows up every night, waiting for me to write the next one. She's good company, but nothing like you. I suppose I should get some sleep now. Goodnight, and sweet dreams, wherever you are.  
Love,  
Harry  
  
For some insane reason, all of this made more and more sense to Holly. The letters, the strangely dressed people, the magic . . . she laughed to herself and wondered how most people would react to the events she had experienced over the past day. If her grandparents could do magic, perhaps she could too. Witches and wizards, wizards and witches. Still laughing, but with a shiver working its way into her back, she considered how ridiculous this sounded, even to her own ears. Would any rational person believe such a story? But then, it wasn't so hard to believe, given her current situation, was it? She questioned herself. She was here, wasn't she? She had seen it with her own eyes, hadn't she? She grinned widely. Despite the Fudge's furious efforts, she even remembered everything.  
  
Holly put the letter back into the roll with the other parchments. She swung herself off the bed and dug deep into the bottom of the pack. She rummaged for a moment until her hand made contact with the soft cloth that could only belong to that beautiful cloak. She pulled it from the pack and hooked the clasp around her neck. She tucked the roll of letters into one of the pockets deep inside the cloak. She patted the other pocket where she had tucked the small gold key and the stones, relaxing at the reassurance they were still there.  
  
Holly wrapped the cloak tightly around her body. She relished the feel of its weight pulling on her arms and back. It felt like a shield around her, protecting her from things she couldn't see. She caught her own image in the mirror in the corner of room, and felt a wave of emotion wash past at her own image. What would her mum think if she could see her now? She reached into her shirt and pulled out the necklace, feeling its familiar contours. It looked lovely with the cloak, as though they belonged together. She laughed at how strange the ensemble looked over her hiking pants, boots, and t-shirt. She looked so different from the little girl she had once been.  
  
What she looked like now . . . Holly considered the image staring back at her in the mirror. The dream she had when she'd passed out flooded back to her like a torrent. She walked up to the mirror slowly, and put her hand out to touch the reflection. That face had been so similar to her own, but it hadn't been her. It must have been her grandfather. That was the only explanation that made sense. She pulled her hand back from the mirror and brought it up to her face. Those bright green eyes she had seen, and also something else. She traced a finger along her cheekbone, and then up over her eyebrows, trying to remember something. Something on his forehead . . . her finger began tracing a peculiar zigzag pattern, something like a lightning-bolt . . .  
  
Holly spun around in near panic at a rattling noise from the tiny window. She might not have been able to reach the window, but that didn't stop the large black bird who was furiously attacking the bolt with her beak. Finally the window flipped open and the raven flew into the room, landed on the bed, and immediately began clacking at her.  
  
"Bram! Shh! You've got to help me!" Holly said in a rush.  
  
Bram scolded her sternly.  
  
"Yes, I know I got into a mess. I'm sorry, all right? You've got to go get help, or I'll never get out of here. Please!"  
  
Bram bobbed her head once in agreement, but instead of flying out the window, she hopped off the bed and into Holly's hiking pack.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Holly asked, totally puzzled. The raven ignored her and continued to dig through the items near the top of the pack. Finally, Bram's head emerged from the pack, and in her beak, she held the feather Holly had put there weeks ago.  
  
"Uh, thanks Bram," Holly said, confused, as the raven dropped the feather on the bed. "I put that there for luck. Whole lot of good it did me."  
  
Bram clacked loudly and wagged her beak back and forth sharply, then nudged the feather closer to Holly.  
  
"That's really so important?" Holly asked. Bram bobbed her head in reply, and then sang one of her unusual calls before taking off out the window.  
  
Holly watched the raven go, and then sighed to herself. Whatever Bram was up to, she hoped it was a better plan than she had. She reached over to the bed and picked up the feather. It made her hands tingle with the same warm sensation as when she had first picked it up. She felt herself relaxing. Although Holly had no idea what Bram had in mind, for some reason, she suddenly felt much more confident.  
  
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In an office at the western corner of the Ministry building, Lucius Malfoy felt a sudden burning sensation across his forearm. He welcomed the pain, but knew he need not answer the call that day. He was already where he needed to be. The Dark Lord would arrive shortly, and the Ministry would fall. Lord Voldemort would soon possess the full extent of the power he sought. The world would crumble at his feet. At that time, his faithful Death Eaters would be rewarded with power and riches beyond compare. Malfoy folded his arms into the sleeves of his robe and smiled. The time would come soon. 


	9. Destruction and Discovery

Chapter 6  
  
Harry had promised himself that he wouldn't get caught on his own words. He had promised himself that he wouldn't get choked up as he related what Dumbledore had revealed to him. He soon found that those were promises he couldn't keep. In the very least, he took comfort in the fact that his friends' reactions mirrored his own. Ron and Hermione had followed him wordlessly through the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley had tried to fuss over Harry, but he had politely told her that he was fine. Harry led the way out the back door and through the garden. They settled themselves under the same shade tree again, with a flagon of pumpkin juice Mrs. Weasley had provided. Hermione had sprawled on her stomach with her chin resting on her hands while Ron had sat with his arms folded around one bent knee and his other leg flung to the side. Both looked expectant, but neither said a word as they waited until Harry was ready to talk. Harry leaned back against the tree trunk, and considered carefully how to begin.  
  
"Hermione, how far have you gotten, reading that book?"  
  
Hermione raised an eyebrow, and said, uncertainly, "Not too far. It's huge, and there's a lot of information."  
  
Harry nodded. "What have you read about so far?"  
  
"Well, it went through a series of Dark Wizards, dating further back than the first century. They were mostly brushed over lightly, not a lot of detail. There was one from during the height of the Druid period that was more in-depth. I've just begun a section on Salazar Slytherin. I skimmed forward. It looks like that section is huge." Hermione eyed Harry narrowly. "Why?"  
  
"What did the book emphasize?" Harry pressed.  
  
"It analyzed how those wizards gained power, but it mostly went over their weaknesses. Harry, where are you going with this?"  
  
"Hermione, that book was written by Voldemort."  
  
Hermione's looked as though she was about to choke. Ron had gone far beyond that and had fallen backwards, propping himself up with his elbows. Even his freckles seemed to have gone white. He whispered, "Harry? You- Know-Who wrote THAT book? And you've got it? What if it's like the diary? What if . . ."  
  
"It's not like that, I don't think. Dumbledore wanted me to read it. I'm sure if Dumbledore gave it to me, it must be safe." Harry looked at each of his friends. Hermione was nodding resolutely, and Ron, in the very least, had sat up again. Harry continued. "Voldemort used those notes in that book to analyze how other witches and wizards gained and lost power so he could find the perfect way to gain power. Apparently, he thought he had found it."  
  
Ron swallowed. "Please don't tell me what I think you're going to tell me."  
  
Harry shook his head. How was he going to say this? "Do you remember who Grindelwald was?"  
  
Hermione piped up. "He was a Dark wizard from just over 50 years ago. There isn't too much about him in the history books, just that he was involved in killing a lot of Muggles and that Dumbledore defeated him. Why?"  
  
"Grindelwald was Adolph Hitler."  
  
Hermione froze for a moment, but then she leaned back and considered this carefully, nodding her head and muttering, "Why didn't I see that before? How could I be so stupid?"  
  
Ron scratched his head and asked, "Who's Adolph Hitler?"  
  
Hermione immediately shot a glare at Ron. "Honestly, Ron! Don't you know anything about the Muggle world? Especially with what your father does for a living?"  
  
"Well, sorta, I mean, well, I guess I don't." Ron threw up his hands in mock-surrender. "What's so important about that guy?"  
  
"Ron, he was responsible for largest organized attempt to wipe out an entire race of human beings in the history of the planet! He hadn't planned to stop anytime soon, either." Hermione leaned back on her hands and rolled her eyes. "I would have guessed that even wizards would know about something that important."  
  
"Well," Harry started, "apparently some wizards did know about it, because he wasn't a Muggle."  
  
"That makes sense," Hermione said. "I remember reading in a regular Muggle history book that Hitler had some sort of fascination with magic, and that most people figured it to be some sort of bizarre superstition. Why do you think it isn't really mentioned in the wizard world?"  
  
"I can tell you that one," Ron said with a smug grin. "Because people are still paranoid about anything having to do with the Muggles finding out about us."  
  
Hermione smirked at him. "You don't think it would have anything to do with the idea of a dark wizard killing millions of Muggles and terrorizing the world, Ron?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
Hermione turned towards Harry. "Harry, what's this got to do with you?"  
  
Just say it, Harry told himself. They've got to know. Stay calm. "Well, I was trying to get to that." Harry flicked his eyes between his two friends and continued. "Both my grandfather and Dumbledore were involved in bringing down Grindelwald. At the same time, Voldemort was looking for ways to gain power. For some reason, he thought my grandfather had some sort of magical ability that allowed him to control people's minds, called the Mind Touch." Harry shuddered slightly and took a deep breath. "He decided that I must have inherited that ability and wanted to kill me so that he could get it."  
  
This time, both Ron and Hermione just stared at Harry. Ron broke the silence. "Harry, why would You-Know-Who think that?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. This was the part he didn't want to think about. Voldemort wiping the life from his mum and dad, and Snape at the bottom of it all. He opened his eyes and steeled himself. He said, "Voldemort sent a spy to get information about a particular wizard involved in defeating Grindelwald. He knew the person who had spied on Grindelwald must have had the Mind Touch, and that person was working in the United States at the time. My grandfather was working there at the same time. Voldemort's spy must have figured it was the same person."  
  
Ron pursed his lips. "What kind of stupid prat would make a mistake like that?"  
  
"Snape."  
  
"WHAT?!?" Ron and Hermione yelled at once. Ron jumped to his feet, knocking over the flagon of pumpkin juice, and began pacing circles around Harry and Hermione, saying exactly what he planned to do to the greasy- haired Potions Master as soon as they returned to Hogwarts. Hermione sat there, looking stunned, although Harry wasn't sure if she was more stunned at the news about Snape, or at the incredible list of curses coming out of Ron's mouth.  
  
"Ron, stop for a second," Harry said.  
  
"Don't tell me you're going to DEFEND that slimy git?" Ron yelled. "That's all the proof we need! The man is as rotten as they come! How could Dumbledore ever let . . ."  
  
"Ron, Snape defected from Voldemort just before my parents died, when Voldemort was the most powerful." Harry gritted his teeth against the tears that were once again threatening to spill over. "Snape risked his life for my mum and dad."  
  
"Are you sure?" Ron looked like he didn't want to believe a word of it.  
  
"I'm positive, Ron. I don't like it, but I'm positive." Harry sighed and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He really didn't want to talk about this anymore. "Want to go play a game of Quidditch? I feel like flying right about now. Besides, I want to have some fun on my birthday."  
  
Ron nodded, but Hermione tapped Harry on the arm. "Harry? What was that ability called? The one that Voldemort wanted?"  
  
"The Mind Touch. Don't tell me you've read about that too?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "No, I was just wondering. As soon as we get back to school, I'm going to have to . . ."  
  
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "If you mention the library, I'll hex you into next week!"  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows and shook her head. "Ok, ok, but I will, you know. For now, we can go play Quidditch." She held out her hand to Ron, and he pulled her to her feet. "Thank you," she said, and then turned to Harry, who hadn't moved. "Aren't you coming? You said you wanted to play."  
  
Harry nodded, smiled, and then pushed himself up. Something dark and shiny in his breast pocket caught Hermione's attention. "Harry, what's that?" she asked, pointing.  
  
"What? Oh, this. A raven gave me a feather the day before I got to the Burrow, and I decided to keep it for good luck."  
  
Ron appraised Harry skeptically. "A raven gave you a feather?"  
  
"Yes. I was talking to it about the Dursleys, and how I'd been working all day. I called it a crow . . . I think it told me to mind my manners."  
  
"Harry, was that before or after you hit your head?"  
  
Harry grinned at his friend and pushed him towards their makeshift Quidditch pitch.  
  
An afternoon of Quidditch can fix anything, Harry decided. They had even managed to get Hermione onto a broom, and turned the event into a Chaser/Keeper session. Ron had taken up a place in front of the two tattered hoops at the far end of the field, apologizing for the one that had broken when Fred had smashed a Bludger into it a bit too eagerly. Harry and Hermione had each taken turns with the Quaffle, trying to get shots past Ron. Ron had certainly been improving, but what surprised both the boys was how well Hermione played. Harry only managed to beat her in two rounds, and when they finally stopped for suppertime, hot, tired, and thirsty, Ron and Harry swarmed her with questions.  
  
"Why didn't you tell us you could do that?" Ron blurted, flabbergasted.  
  
"Do what?" Hermione asked, her eyes twinkling mischievously.  
  
Harry cut in. "Play like that! I mean, I'm not a Chaser, not really, but you're good! You've never played before?"  
  
"No, I haven't, but when I was younger, my parents put me on a youth cricket team. I used to have quite an arm."  
  
Ron beamed at Hermione with a whole new respect. "You've got to try out for one of the Chaser positions next year. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie are all 7th years. We'll be needing three new chasers."  
  
"Hold it Ron, no way," Hermione stopped short of the back door and turned on her friends. "I played for fun, and because you and Harry wanted me to. I don't like the idea of being up there in front of the whole school. I couldn't possibly do it! I won't have time, with all the classes I'm taking. Besides, I have no real experience. I'd be a liability to the team! Harry agrees with me, don't you? Harry?"  
  
Harry was looking at Hermione with one eyebrow slightly raised, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "Well, Hermione, we will need three new chasers . . ."  
  
"Forget it. Not a chance," Hermione said as she pulled the door open and led the way into the kitchen. She didn't see Harry wink at Ron, both of them grinning fiercely. They were all greeted by the wonderful aromas of dinner, and a huge birthday cake sitting on the countertop. Ron put a finger to his lips, telling Harry and Hermione not to say a word as he reached over to steal a glob of icing.  
  
"Ronald Wealsey!" his mother yelled, bursting into the kitchen. "Get your fingers away from that cake! You'll have plenty enough sugar when dinner is over. Go wash your hands!" She turned to Harry and Hermione, smiling sweetly. "How are you two dears doing? You might want to wash your hands before supper. Harry, are you ok?"  
  
As wonderful as Mrs. Weasley could be, Harry began to wonder if there was such a thing as too much mothering. "Perfectly fine, Mrs. Weasley."  
  
"Of course, dear," she said, although her expression said otherwise.  
  
"Hello everyone," Mr. Weasley's tired voice said from the sitting room. "I think that's the last of it."  
  
"I'm coming, Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Everyone followed her to the sitting room, where Mr. Weasley was going through his latest armload of boxes from his old office at the Ministry. Fred and George were already in the sitting room, helping their dad unpack. Possibly for the first time in their lives, the twins didn't seem to be in a joking mood. Mr. Weasley held up a three-pronged electrical plug on the end of a short length of frayed orange wire. It appeared to have once been part of a construction tool. "I was always particularly fond of this one. Don't you like it, dear? Hello, kids," he said, giving a small smile to Ron, Harry, and Hermione.  
  
"It's lovely, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded as he handed the plug to George, who went to put it on the shelf. He reached back into the box for another carefully wrapped plug and said, "I saw Percy down at the office. Invited him to supper tonight, Penelope too, if he wanted, but he said he was too busy writing a report on dragon-hide gloves. He told me that he intended to keep his job, and I suppose he's right, in a way. With Fudge as volatile as he is, he's probably better off safe than sorry, especially as he's just starting out."  
  
"Dad, he's a sell-out!" Fred exclaimed, livid. "I can't believe he's not sticking with the family at a time like this."  
  
"Fred, you're brother is taking care of himself, and he's fairly good at that," said Mrs. Weasley, planting her hands staunchly on her hips. "Unlike you and George, he's got some ambition to make something of himself, not spend his life making pranks and jokes." Her expression became slightly pained. "But you're right. I wish he'd come home tonight."  
  
She sat down next to Mr. Weasley, watching as he turned the next plug over slowly in his hands. "That's really all of it, isn't it? I can't believe all of this, all at once. What will we do now?"  
  
"Dumbledore said he might have some work for me, Molly. He can't pay me officially, but given the situation, he can work it out." Mr. Weasley looked up with a forced smile. "Don't worry, this will all work out."  
  
Harry had to fight to keep from looking as though he'd been punched in the gut. The Weasleys were already poor enough. The financial impact of Mr. Weasley's job loss hadn't even occurred to him. He watched Mr. Weasley examining the plug collection with nostalgia. Harry's mind drifted to the pile of gold sitting in his Gringotts's vault, and he gritted his teeth, knowing the Weasleys would never accept a Knut of it. He looked over at Fred, who had just placed a white-wired plug (apparently from a kitchen appliance) on the mantle. He made eye contact, and an understanding flashed between the two of them.  
  
"Dad?" Fred sat down next to Mr. Weasley. "George and I have something to tell you."  
  
"Fred, please don't tell me you blew up the shed again."  
  
"No, Dad," George said, immediately realizing where his brother was going with this. "We actually have some good news. Fred, go get it, will you?"  
  
Fred nodded and took off up the stairs. Mr. Weasley looked confused, but Mrs. Weasley seemed more suspicious. "If you boys tell me that you're still selling those ridiculous pranks of yours, I swear you'll wish you'd never played a joke in your lives."  
  
"No, mum. We were planning on it, especially when we got ourselves a silent partner . . ."  
  
". . . and managed to get enough money to really start the business . . ." said Fred, now coming back down the stairs, staggering slightly with the weight of a large bag.  
  
". . .but now we figure the family needs it more."  
  
Fred set the bag heavily on the table with a metallic clink. "There's enough money to keep things running for a while. Don't worry, dad. We'll be fine."  
  
Mr. Weasley looked between Fred and George speechlessly. He reached over and pulled open the drawstring of the bag and looked inside. His eyes widened in shock. "There must be a thousand Galleons in here," he said with a strained whisper. "How did you boys get this?"  
  
"We told you," said George. "Silent partner."  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head slowly, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Sometimes, I think it's better not to know how you two do it. Thanks boys." He pulled the drawstring shut and slid the bag to the side. "I think, now, we can all go enjoy a birthday party properly?"  
  
He slapped his hands on his knees and stood, then looked over into the box he had brought back from the office. "Yup, that's all of it. Just as well. Perhaps things will just improve from here . . . wait a minute. Oh no."  
  
"What's wrong, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.  
  
"I must have left it in the bathroom at the office," he grumbled. "I had wanted to see how it worked, and I forgot it. I'll have to go back after supper to get it."  
  
"What dad?" Ron asked.  
  
"My rubber duck!"  
  
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Holly could feel the tension in the ministry building, and she didn't like it one bit. It didn't matter. There wasn't a thing she could do about it. She hadn't seen or heard from Fudge for a few hours. Whether that was a good sign or not remained to be seen. In that time, she had tried everything she could think of to find a means of escape, but not one of those things had worked. She was also no closer to figuring out the riddle of the feather.  
  
Bram had obviously thought the feather was important, but Holly couldn't see why. She had stared at it, poked it, and ran her finger along the rachis repeatedly. She had even tried talking to it, for all the good that would do. Finally, she stopped in frustration, occupying herself by nibbling on some of the nut mixes she still had hidden in her pack. "Hmm," she mumbled to herself. "The man at the store was right. The dried apples are really good."  
  
Holly stood up and walked towards the window. It had definitely begun to get dark outside, and as though that didn't bother her enough, there was still no sign of Bram. She grimaced and turned her back to the window. Right now, it was just one more way she couldn't get out. She slammed her fist against the wall. She had to be missing something. There HAD to be a way out. Right now, she just couldn't think of it, and her aggravation was getting her nowhere. This wouldn't do at all.  
  
She returned to the dresser where she had placed the feather and picked it up again. She brought it up in front of her face and narrowed her eyes. "A feather. It's just a lousy feather. What was Bram thinking?" She shook her head and whipped the feather away from her face in frustration.  
  
The strange, warm tingling she had felt every time she had touched the feather must have magnified a thousand times. It crept up her arm through her whole body. What looked like a bright shower of sparks flew from the end of the feather. Holly froze, then slowly raised it back in front of her face, her jaw now hanging slightly open. Slowly, she moved backwards to the edge of her bed and sat down, never taking her eyes from the feather. It wasn't a wand, but something about it was certainly reminiscent of a wand. She turned it over and over in her hands. If anything from the past day felt peculiar, this certainly should have, but somehow, it didn't. Perhaps, just maybe, she could use it to open the door. She turned her eyes towards the ceiling mentally thanked Bram. Once again, Holly wondered where the raven had gone, and if she was coming back.  
  
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Dumbledore untied a small roll of parchment from the leg of the hawk owl standing on his desk. He adjusted his spectacles and quickly unrolled the short note.  
  
D - No luck yet. No records, V does not seem to suspect. Still safe. - S  
  
He thanked the bird, who hooted softly before taking off out the window of Dumbledore's tower office. Snape knew he should not expect a reply. The notes he sent were enough of a risk for him at the moment. The potions master should be back for the start of the school year, but it was still uncertain. So many things were uncertain in these times. Dumbledore's conversation that morning with Harry had covered everything of immediate importance to the boy; those things which would help answer some of the questions that had been plaguing him. The last thing Dumbledore wanted to do was to give Harry information that produced more questions than answers. Unfortunately, most of the available information did exactly that. There were so many things Dumbledore still had to work out, and circumstances, he felt, made it necessary that he work out those mysteries sooner rather than later.  
  
Dumbledore leaned his chin on his hands and thought carefully for a moment. In a swift motion, he stood, walked to one of his many cabinets, and opened the door. He put his wand to his temple and pulled it away, the wand now carrying a whitish, wispy cloud. He touched his wand to the surface of the shining contents of his Penseive, let the surface settle, and peered in. He spun around as he heard an anxious tone from Fawkes.  
  
The phoenix was bobbing his head, swaying agitatedly from leg to leg on his perch. He sang another high note and flapped his wings once.  
  
"Ah, Fawkes, what is it? Is something wrong?" the Headmaster asked evenly.  
  
Fawkes didn't have time to answer before a mess of black feathers shot through the open window like a small rocket and skidded to a halt on Dumbledore's desk, sending parchments flying everywhere. It was immediately on its feet, clacking furiously. Surprise registered on Dumbledore's face for a moment before he managed to resume his typically calm demeanor.  
  
"Slow down, my friend," he said, holding up a hand and leaning towards the obviously distraught bird. "I cannot help you if I cannot understand you."  
  
The raven stared at him with her chest heaving. When her breathing slowed, she tilted her head, as though appraising the wizard standing in front of her. She opened her beak, and sang a long, vibrant note that resonated through the tower. Dumbledore was not often taken aback by things, but this time, he felt, was one of the exceptions. Fawkes immediately flew off his perch and Dumbledore watched as the two birds carried on one of the strangest conversations he'd ever witnessed. Finally, the wizard spoke.  
  
"I regret to break up this merry reunion, but am I correct in assuming you had a something important to tell me?" he asked the raven.  
  
The dark bird returned her attention to Dumbledore. She bobbed her head and proceeded to clack and call for nearly a minute, occasionally waving her wings and hopping nervously. Dumbledore listened attentively, with increasing worry. The bird abruptly stopped ranting, waiting for a response. Dumbledore nodded sharply.  
  
"Yes, this is serious. I will attend to this matter immediately, thank you. You may rest here for now, if you wish," he said, indicating his phoenix's roost.  
  
The raven shook her head, singing one final note of gratitude and tidings, then leapt from the desktop and soared out the window. Dumbledore watched the unusual bird leave, knowing that his curiosity would eventually get the better of him. For the moment, however, he would have to put that aside. He grabbed his hat and cloak from their stand and swept out the office door. As he left, Fawkes sang a single note, which echoed sadly through the tower.  
  
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Outside the Ministry building, a single man emerged from the surrounding forest, shrouded in a dark robe. He surveyed the structure in front of him, picturing the revenge that was now within his reach. He held up his wand and began moving forward, signaling his loyal Death Eaters to follow his lead. One by one, the other men appeared behind him, walking silently in his wake. The Dark Lord would soon claim one of his largest victories. The Ministry, and Fudge himself, would fall to the Dark Lord. As he walked, his red eyes glinted with malevolent pleasure, and he laughed, a high cold laugh. It was not a pleasant sound.  
  
Inside the building, Lucius Malfoy watched the oncoming wave of his fellow Death Eaters, led by the Dark Lord. The Ministry building wasn't full at this hour of the night, but it certainly wasn't empty. The purpose of tonight's mission wasn't purely to kill. The destruction of the Ministry would create such terror, panic, and chaos throughout the Wizard population that soon, ever so soon, everyone would bow in fear to Lord Voldemort. Malfoy's only regret was that Arthur Weasley had been fired. He had been hoping for the chance to finally kill that poor excuse for a pure-blooded wizard. Tonight, he would settle for a Weasley-junior. He turned towards away from the window. The onslaught would breach the magical barriers in a moment. He began to walk towards the stairs when someone caught his arm. Timothy Bowen looked him square in the eyes, plainly in a panic.  
  
"Malfoy, what's going on out there? Who are those people? Malfoy?" Bowen was now looking in confusion at Malfoy. Malfoy was wearing a smug grin.  
  
"Ah, Bowen, working late aren't you? Don't worry, that's just a little surprise party arriving for the Ministry. Unfortunately, I think you'll have to skip out on this one."  
  
The last thing Bowen saw was Malfoy's wand whipping from his robes, and a bright flash of green.  
  
Malfoy sneered, then stepped over the body now lying between himself and the staircase. It was time for him to release many years of pent-up frustration with the Weasley family. He had reached the top of the stairs when he heard a blast from the entrance. The attack had begun.  
  
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Holly was leaning against the door, twirling the feather and racking her brain for ideas, when a wave of terror overwhelmed her. She doubled over with a gasp, clutching her ribcage. Fuzzy images and sounds brushed at the edge of her thoughts, and echoes of pain jolted her nerves. Through it all, an undercurrent of malice and twisted pleasure brought a sharp realization. The Death Eaters were inside the Ministry building. She pulled herself upright, struggling to clear her head and push back the panic rising in her chest. This was not the time to panic.  
  
She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to will her mind into peace and silence. Slowly, the mental howling subsided. She needed to open the door. It was the only way out. She had tried waving the feather at the door, hoping this whole magic-thing worked like that. Apparently, it didn't. Every time she had seen someone cast a spell, they had said something. Strange words that sounded a bit like Latin. Long, strange words . . . to open doors . . .  
  
The Death Eaters who had broken into the inn had said something, but what? She sank to her knees, desperately trying to remember the impossible. She knew time was running out.  
  
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Percy Weasley had spent the last three hours working nonstop on his report on dragon-hide gloves. Piles of parchment littered his desk, and he had worn through the tips of two new quills. Now, however, he was leaning back in his chair, with his feet on his desk, completely engrossed in studying the small book that was his constant companion. "Prefects Who Gained Power" had lent him so many insights into the means by which he, like his predecessors, could rise to the top. His ambitions seemed to impress Penelope enough, and she was a clever witch herself. He was reviewing the Ministry career of Martin Andrews, who had graduated in 1927, when the door opened abruptly.  
  
"Malfoy!" Percy jumped up, irritated both at the intrusion as well as the identity of the unwanted visitor. "What are you doing here? I'm extremely busy and do not welcome. . ."  
  
Malfoy silenced him by aiming his wand directly between the young wizard's eyes.  
  
"I don't believe you're in much of a position to be asking questions, Weasley," Malfoy scowled. "It's a shame your father couldn't be here tonight. I would have preferred for him to witness this glorious event."  
  
Percy whimpered, which was enough to prompt his attacker's continued monologue. "As we speak, the Dark Lord has entered the Ministry. The Ministry will fall. The Dark Lord himself will kill Fudge, as I will kill you."  
  
Percy turned white as a sheet, shrinking back against the wall.  
  
"It's almost a shame, really," Malfoy carried on, almost lazily, his wand still poised to attack. "Of your entire family, you nearly behaved like a real wizard." He looked down at the book Percy had dropped on his desk. "Excellent reading. Too bad your name will never grace the pages of future editions."  
  
"Please, don't. . ." Percy choked, shaking violently. Malfoy leveled his wand. "I really enjoyed our little conversation."  
  
"No, please!" gasped the younger wizard, bordering on hysteria. "I'll do anything, please don't kill me!"  
  
"Avada. . ."  
  
". . .Kedavra!" cried Voldemort. In front of him, a small wizard slumped at his desk, his bowler hat falling from his head and rolling across the floor.  
  
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In a small, magically-shielded room, a petite witch in a deep blue cloak stood, facing a locked door. In her hand, she held a raven feather. Although her eyes were open, they were not seeing the door in front of her. Holly had retreated deep within her own thoughts, searching for a memory she must have hidden somewhere. She found herself walking the street in the tiny town with the inn. She watched as the Death Eaters appeared. They approached the door of the inn, and there was that word, that one word . . . and the door had burst open. In her mind, she walked closer to the dark men, and listened to them say it one more time. Almost. She peered closer, straining her memory, every nuance of her senses, and listened to the word one more time.  
  
Holly's eyes snapped open, and with a certainty she didn't feel, she recited the word for herself. "Alohomora!"  
  
She heard a clicking sound in the doorknob, and ever so slightly, the door swung open. Her immediate jubilation disappeared as quickly as it had come, the smell of smoke filling her nostrils. Pushing the door open, she tumbled out into a thick wall of smoke. She choked and coughed, but if she stayed, she knew she would die. She tucked the feather into her pocket, covered her nose and mouth with the edge of the cloak, and ran into the smoke without looking back.  
  
The building was deserted, but flames were flicking around the edges of doorways and smoke was pouring thicker and thicker. Holly knew she had to get out, anyway, anywhere. Her foot struck something solid, and she fell hard. Feeling backwards with her hand, she found herself touching another hand. She didn't need to find a pulse to know the person was dead. Suppressing a shudder, she began crawling along the floor, beginning to cough violently. She felt her way along the wall, and finally her hand found a doorway. There had to be a window.  
  
She moved into the room, and immediately she bumped into something small, rounded, and rather light. She picked it up and held it close to her face. It was a bowler hat. She grimaced, but threw the hat to the side. Reaching the far wall, she stood and found herself facing a large window pane that extended almost the full length of the wall. There were no handholds to pull the window open. She reached up for a latch, but found nothing.  
  
Holly whipped around and looked back at the door, but flames had filled the hall, and the smoke was so thick that the fire looked dull and dark red. She could feel herself becoming light-headed from the smoke, and her throat was now burning violently.  
  
She turned back to the window. There was no room for hesitation. A false move right now could kill her. She pulled her arms up in front of her face, closed her eyes, and crashed through the glass.  
  
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Arthur Weasley Apparated just outside the Ministry's usual Apparition-free zone, in his favourite little clearing in the woods. Harry's birthday supper had begun with a somewhat somber tone, but soon Fred and George had produced several rounds of butterbeer, a box of Filibuster Fireworks, and their usual set of pranks and tricks. Even Mrs. Weasley had approved of the whole evening and was laughing along with everyone else. Arthur almost felt bad leaving while the party was still going simply to get his rubber duck, but he felt that perhaps he could convince Percy to join them. His son was sure to still be in his office, slaving away over a quill and parchment. Before he could take a step from where he had Apparated, the sound of many voices froze him on the spot.  
  
He quickly ducked behind the nearest tree, flattening himself against the ground as closely as possible. As he listened, his hand moved protectively to the wand in his pocket. A cold, cruel voice met his hears.  
  
"Ah, my faithful followers! You have done well, and you shall be rewarded. We have even found some interesting prizes to bring back with us. This day will be long remembered. Power, my Death Eaters, is ours!"  
  
A series of faint pops let Arthur know that the group of wizards had Disapparated. He gasped as he released the breath he had been holding, then caught a faint smell. He sniffed the air. Something was burning. A sick, icy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The Ministry building.  
  
Arthur tore through the underbrush, branches and leaves whipping against his face. He arrived at the edge of the clearing around the Ministry and caught himself short at the sight that met him. The building that had been his second home for so many years was almost completely engulfed in flames. He thought about that for only a brief moment before another realization, much more cruel than the first, swept across his mind. His eyes filled with tears and his knees shook, wavered, then completely gave out. He leaned against the nearest tree, only partially successful in keeping himself from slumping to the ground. He opened his mouth, which was suddenly very dry, and whispered aloud, "Percy. . ."  
  
He was certain his son had been in the building. There was no way Percy could have survived that attack. There was just no possible way. If only Percy had listened to him, had come home for supper that night, he would have been safe. If only . . . Arthur had seen his son just hours ago, and now, it was too late. He talked with Percy so seldom, and now, he would never get that chance again. Tears blurred his vision and his breath came in tight gasps, but there was nothing he could do.  
  
Arthur forced himself to his feet, and he began circling the perimeter of the building. What he was hoping to see, he wasn't sure, but something . . . anything. He had walked for only a moment when he shook his head. This was ludicrous. There would be no survivors. He would have to tell Dumbledore immediately. He began walking back towards the perimeter when a loud crash shook him from his daze.  
  
Arthur snapped around to see the form of a small person stumbling from a shattered window. Smoke poured out through the broken window, and Arthur could hear ragged, laboured coughing. The person took a few shaky steps and looked up. In the light from the burning building, Arthur could distinguish short, dark hair, a petite frame, and glasses. The image was strangely familiar.  
  
The mysterious person must have seen him, and began moving towards him at a halting, weak jog. Between coughs, a voice called out, "Wait! Please, help me!" The voice was thin and scratchy from the smoke, and it was definitely the voice of a young woman. Arthur's eyes widened at the sight. "Oh my god," he whispered.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Holly had never been so grateful for fresh air in her life, but the smoke had already worked its way deep into her lungs, burning with every breath, even outside of the inferno that had once been the Ministry of Magic. She took a few shaky steps that brought her scarcely twenty feet from the building, trying to stop her head from spinning. She knew she wasn't getting quite enough oxygen. Also, she must have not covered her face nearly well enough when she had broken the window, and she reached up to wipe away the blood that was slowly dripping into her eye. At least she was alive, but she knew she needed help.  
  
She looked around. The Death Eaters were certainly gone. In fact, the area felt deserted, except for one person. Across the grounds, by the wood line, stood a man in a robe and a tilted hat who didn't seem malicious at all. In fact, he seemed vaguely familiar. Holly set out towards him as fast as her unsteady legs could carry her, calling out for help.  
  
She had covered more than half the distance between them when he finally began moving towards her. She had almost reached him when she recognized him, surprised, but very pleased.  
  
"Arthur Weasley!" she cried out, feeling the words burn in her throat. She remembered her last view of the kind wizard just after Fudge had cursed him. "My god, it's you! You're ok!"  
  
Mr. Weasley grasped her by the arm as she stumbled the last few steps to reach him. "Me?" he asked incredulously as he looked over the young woman. "Are YOU ok? By Merlin, you're bleeding! How did you get out? Who are you?"  
  
He couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen her before, completely aside from the fact that she looked insanely like Harry. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, save for the dark cloak she had fastened at her throat. Her face was grimy with smoke and blood, her glasses were slightly askew, and her hair was standing wildly in all directions. She started to answer him, but was racked by another coughing fit.  
  
Arthur took her by the arm and led her to a fallen tree trunk to have her sit down. When the coughing subsided, she grinned at him faintly and said, "Thanks. I needed that."  
  
Holly reached up again to wipe the blood away from her eyes, then removed her glasses, which were thickly coated with smoke and speckles of blood. They were also broken, she realized, the left lens displaying a sharp set of cracks. She scowled, then returned her attention to Mr. Weasley, who was staring at her looking utterly confused. Shocked, she could understand, but why was he confused?  
  
"Such a coincidence to meet twice under such lovely conditions isn't it?" she asked sarcastically, trying to sound amused.  
  
His confusion increased at this statement, if anything, and finally Holly realized why. He didn't remember her. Whatever Fudge had done to him, Arthur Weasley had no memory, no authentic recollection of the previous night. Holly looked at him desperately.  
  
"You don't remember me, do you?"  
  
The Mr. Weasley shook his head meekly. "I'm sorry, I really don't. That's not important right now. We need to get you to a Mediwizard." He looked up at the blazing Ministry building, cringing as a large section of the roof collapsed. "We need to get out of here anyway."  
  
"No! Wait a minute, you have to remember me!" Holly pleaded, grasping the cuff of Mr. Weasley's robe. She looked into his eyes, willing him to remember. Her voice shook slightly. "You have to remember, you just have to. . ."  
  
Mr. Weasley's tense expression shifted slowly, his eyes widening. "Holly?"  
  
She nodded vigorously. Mr. Weasley bit his lower lip. "How did you get here?"  
  
A strong voice greeted them from the wood line. "That is what I would like to know as well."  
  
Mr. Weasley's head snapped around in surprise, relief evident in his reaction. "Albus!"  
  
Dumbledore's expression was grave as he approached the pair. The light from the fire shone off his half-moon spectacles and tinted his long white beard with glints of yellow and orange. "Arthur, were you here when the attack started?"  
  
"No, Albus. I had returned to get something I'd forgotten when I cleaned out my office. I Apparated just in time to hear You-Know-Who congratulating his group of Death Eaters, then they Disapparated. I smelled the smoke, then found this," he said in a strained tone, indicating the crumbling inferno. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Percy was working late."  
  
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I'm afraid there is little that can be done, Arthur. Percy may not have been inside at the time. He was always very resourceful, he may have escaped. We cannot know for certain right now. I'm terribly sorry," he said, bowing his head slightly.  
  
Holly pulled her knees closer to her body, taking in everything.  
  
The Headmaster raised his eyes and surveyed the smoky, petite witch sitting next to Mr. Weasley. She had wrapped herself completely in her cloak, shivering in the night air. She was trying to clean her broken pair of glasses, coughing occasionally. Her hair was partially matted with blood. She wiped a trickle of the thick red liquid away from her brow with the back of her hand and looked back and forth between the two wizards. Despite her ragged appearance, her eyes were clear and unafraid.  
  
"I've seen you before," she said, squinting at the elder wizard. "From a dream I had. You, and a large castle, and there was. . ." her voice was interrupted by another coughing fit. Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley exchanged glances.  
  
"Albus, she was at the Muggle attack last night. Fudge must have brought her here after he altered my memory," Mr. Weasley explained, although he looked as though he wanted an explanation himself. "I'm also wondering how you knew to come here."  
  
"Ah, that seems as unusual as the rest of this matter," said Dumbledore as he sat himself down on the tree trunk. "A very peculiar raven paid me a visit not more than fifteen minutes ago, telling me of a young witch who was trapped here."  
  
Holly had stopped coughing and turned her attention entirely to Dumbledore, meeting his gaze directly. His bright blue eyes searched her deep brown ones intently as he mused aloud, "It appears she is no longer trapped. Arthur, you did not assist her escape, did you?" Dumbledore asked, not removing his eyes from Holly. She cocked her head, but did not flinch or break eye contact.  
  
"No, I didn't," Mr. Weasley replied. "Incredibly, she got out on her own. I wouldn't have believed it, but I also couldn't believe it when she stopped the Death Eater attack last night.  
  
Dumbledore almost seemed speechless as he considered the implications of that statement. Even in the flickering shadows, she looked so familiar. Her eyes seemed as though they could see through a person's soul.  
  
"Bram found you?" she asked. "I wondered where she had gone."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled at Holly's casual tone. "Yes, Bram found me." He turned somber again. "I only wish she had found me sooner," he said, indicating the Ministry building, or what was left of it. "I am still quite curious to know how a young witch such as yourself came to be in such a dangerous situation, not once, but twice in two days. Perhaps more importantly, I would like to know just how you survived. You seem to remind me of a young wizard I happen to know."  
  
Holly raised her eyebrows, but flinched as the cut above her eye opened, trickling another rivulet of blood. She didn't want to give a full recounting of the events of the last twenty-four hours, not just yet. She wiped the blood again and asked, "So, I AM a witch? Is that what all this is? I was almost starting to think I'd been dreaming the whole time." She shuddered. "Some dream. Nightmare, maybe."  
  
"Albus," Mr. Weasley interrupted. "I think she was raised as a Muggle."  
  
Holly looked confused, but Dumbledore simply nodded. His voice was almost deceptively casual. "I do not believe I have seen her at Hogwarts, but why she never attended is a question that remains to be answered."  
  
Holly spoke again, but her voice carried an edge of frustration through her exhaustion. "I've got some questions myself, if you don't mind, sir, like 'What on earth is going on here?'" She shivered again and pulled her cloak in tighter. "But first, can we go someplace warm?"  
  
Holly felt as though she could trust these people. Mr. Weasley had come to her rescue, albeit late, twice now. He felt like how she had always wanted her father to be. Then there was Dumbledore. Something about the bearded wizard made her feel as though she could place her very life in his hands with complete confidence.  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "That would probably be best. We need to get you to a Mediwitch too. Arthur, I think I should bring her to Hogwarts for the moment. It's the safest place."  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded, but Holly grabbed his arm, her exhaustion finally making a small crack in her emotional dam. "Will you come too?" she asked, her eyes worried.  
  
"Should I, Albus?" Mr. Weasley asked the Headmaster, putting his hand somewhat protectively on Holly's shoulder.  
  
"Actually, I will need to speak with the both of you, so yes." He smiled at Holly. "Before we depart, at least let me introduce myself properly. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you are?" He extended a hand to her.  
  
Holly closed her eyes for a moment, reaching up and touching the necklace still dangling from her neck. She remembered her grandmother's words, drawing strength from them. Perhaps, finally, she had found her place. She just needed the courage to take that place. She opened her eyes, placed her glasses on her face, and carefully appraised the man in front of her. Dumbledore was peering at her over the rims of his spectacles with an unreadable expression.  
  
"My name is Holly." She clasped his hand with hers. "Holly Potter." 


	10. Fire and Fate

Time froze. Even though the Ministry building was blazing with a furious roar not fifty meters away, for just a moment, the only sound was a breeze whistling past Holly's ears. Dumbledore hadn't moved, and Holly's hand was still clasped tightly in his. Holly could tell that this was not a man who ever overreacted, but here he was, with his face locked in an emotion that she couldn't translate. She could almost see a million thoughts swimming behind his eyes.  
  
Slowly, Dumbledore began to nod his head, and said softly, "Yes, so you are. So you are."   
  
He released her hand and leaned back, finally breaking eye contact and turning towards the other wizard. Mr. Weasley had the distinct appearance of a man who had seen far too much in one day, possibly a lifetime. He was staring at the ground somewhere between himself and the fire, his mouth slightly open. Holly realized that he was most likely still in shock over Percy, who she assumed must be someone very close to him. She only vaguely remembered how her father acted after her mum had died. It hadn't been pretty.  
  
"Arthur?" Dumbledore said. He didn't move, and Dumbledore spoke more firmly, placing his hand on Mr. Weasley's shoulder and giving it a tight squeeze. "Arthur."  
  
Mr. Weasley looked up and nodded, obviously still locked in his thoughts. He stood and said, emotionlessly, "We'd best get outside of the Anti-Apparition zone. We'll need to be going now."   
  
He began walking back towards a trail that led into the trees. Dumbledore followed suit, easing himself off the tree trunk. "Come along, Holly. Are you well enough to walk?"  
  
Holly's stubborn pride got the better of her and she was immediately on her feet. Almost as quickly, she felt the blood rushing from her head and the cold air biting through her cloak. She pulled the cloth in tighter to her body, and nodded. She gritted her teeth, equally out of determination and also a need to stop her teeth from chattering. "I'm fine. Just a bit cold."  
  
Dumbledore placed a hand under her elbow to steady her as they walked. For once, she didn't care to protest. Questions ran through her head unrestrained, but she held them quietly. There would be plenty of time to ask shortly, she was certain.   
***********************************************************************************************   
Almost as soon as Mr. Weasley had left to retrieve his rubber duck, the party began to dwindle. It came to a screeching halt for Harry when he took a chance with one of Fred and George's "Weasley Crackers," which hit him squarely in the face with a cream pie. The room shook with laughter as the pie tin fell to the floor, Harry's face and hair now covered with whipped cream. Harry sat still for a moment, then reached up slowly and removed his glasses, revealing two perfectly clean round spots around his eyes.  
  
The laughter became hysterical. Ron fell off his chair, clutching his ribs, while the twins exchanged excessive congratulations. Ginny knocked her glass over, laughing uncontrollably, while Mrs. Weasley held the edge of her apron over her face, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes as she shook with mirth. Hermione finally caught her breath, her face still contorted with a grin. She reached over and ran her finger across Harry's cheek, then sampled the whipped cream.  
  
"Mmm, not bad. Sherbet lemon."  
  
Harry stuck his tongue out and ran it along his upper lip. "Needs sugar."  
  
The room broke out in another wave of laughter, and Harry finally joined in. "How long until this stuff disappears, Fred?" he asked, the cream beginning to drip down his neck.  
  
"It doesn't," Fred answered, grinning.  
  
"Yup, this time, it's the real thing!" seconded George.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "I needed a shower anyway." He looked at his glasses, which were also thickly coated with whipped cream. "Perhaps I should wear these in the shower too. I'll be back in a little while." He pushed out his chair and stood, assuring Mrs. Weasley that he'd had a wonderful time and that the cake had been delicious. Still holding his glasses in his hand, he made his way out of the kitchen and to the stairs, proceeding to crash into the railing. He cursed loudly, causing more laughter from the kitchen. He rubbed his stomach, smirked, and walked up the stairs. Carefully.  
  
Finally in the bathroom, he closed the door and squinted into the mirror. He chuckled as some of the cream began to slide down his forehead and past his eyebrow. He wiped his face, and then ran his glasses under the faucet. He pulled off his shirt, and was reaching down to remove his belt when a deep chill ran up his back. The sensation was odd, disconcerting, and despite the boisterous evening, he suddenly felt strangely withdrawn. He shook it off and finished undressing.   
  
Harry turned on the water, waited a moment, and then stepped under the shower head. The hot water felt great, and he relaxed as the steam rose up around him. He leaned over to reach for the soap when a sharp pain seared across his forehead. Harry's hand snapped up to his scar, pressing it tightly as though it would block the sharp burn that was now coming in vicious pulses. He slipped on the wet surface of the bathtub as a wave of pain nearly blocked his vision. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth and balled his fists tightly. Bright lights flashed before his eyes. He heard himself hissing in desperation, "Not now, please not today. . ."  
  
Harry sank to his knees, willing the pain to end. He braced himself, battling wave after wave, noiselessly, almost completely oblivious to time and his surroundings. Finally, the pain subsided. With a shaky breath, Harry opened his eyes to find himself slumped on the edge of the bathtub. He wrapped his hands around the edge of the tub and sat upright. He shuddered. Last night had been exhausting, and Dumbledore's talk that morning hadn't been much easier. This was just getting to be a bit too much. He couldn't bear to keep bringing news like this to his friends. It was yet one more thing to make their summer difficult, and it was becoming awkward to keep going on about these topics. More reasons for his friends to worry about him. He needed to talk to someone else . . .Sirius! He hadn't sent his godfather a letter since any of this had happened, and there was certainly plenty to tell. He would need to write to Sirius immediately.  
  
He rubbed his forehead once more, feeling the last traces of pain fade from his scar, then got to his feet. The shower was still pouring warm water over him, and he stood there for a moment, soaking it in. The steam had completely filled the bathroom, and Harry took a deep breath. A tickle in his throat caused him to cough lightly. Then again . . . and once more. He sniffed the air, and caught a faint smell of smoke. The steam around him suddenly felt much more oppressive than soothing. Ok, now I must be loosing my mind, he thought, feeling a slight panic.   
  
Harry turned off the shower as quickly as he could, beginning to cough continuously. He wrapped himself in his shower robe and threw open the bathroom door. He raced into the hallway and turned his back against the wall, breathing deeply, as though there would never be enough air available. He realized he didn't really smell anything burning, but it seemed as though he could feel it around him, almost tasting an acidic, smoky flavor in his mouth. He closed his eyes as a few more coughs racked his thin form, and rolled his head back with a groan. This was definitely too much.  
  
"Harry?" Ron had just come up the stairs, followed closely by Hermione. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
Great, just what he needed, thought Harry. Now there was no way to avoid telling them. He thought about making up a story, but what was the point? "I was in the shower and my scar started to hurt," he said simply, but then he hesitated a moment too long. Hermione picked up on it immediately.  
  
"What else?" she asked.   
  
"I can't hide anything, can I?" he asked, chagrinned.   
  
"Harry, why would you want to?" Hermione countered.   
  
"Never mind. Do you smell smoke?" Harry looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione.   
  
Ron screwed up his face, sniffing the air, and answered, "No. Not at all. Do you?"   
  
Harry nodded. "Let me go get dressed. This is a bit drafty, to say the least, and I'm freezing. I'll meet you upstairs, ok?"  
  
"Ok, Harry," Ron said. "Don't be long." Ron turned to the stairs, but Hermione held her ground.   
  
"That's strange," she said vaguely, lost in thought. "Very strange."  
  
"What is, Hermione?" Harry questioned.  
  
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," she said quickly. "It's just something that occurred to me. I really must get to the library soon . . ."  
  
"Hermione!" Ron howled. "Come on, let him get dressed." Ron took her firmly by the arm and led her towards the stairs to his room.  
  
Harry actually cracked a smile at the sight. He walked back into the bathroom and took a drink of water, but the smoky taste wouldn't quite go away. He sighed and wondered if he'd ever get a moment's peace, immediately admonishing himself for even asking the question. He already knew the answer. There would be no peace until the war with Voldemort was over. In the meantime, it would have to be fought one battle at a time. He closed the door softly.  
************************************************************************   
That should have been the worst night of her life, Holly decided. Funny thing was, it hadn't been. Aside from the fact that she had almost died, in retrospect, it had been very interesting. Insanely, her largest personal regret was that her camera and compass had gone up in smoke. She still had almost all of her mum's things, except for the stones, but those were not as important as the things she had managed to save. All of it seemed unimportant compared to the fantastic castle she now knew as Hogwarts.  
  
When they had arrived, she had been taken straight to the infirmary. Mr. Weasley hadn't said a word since they had left the Ministry, his eyes empty as though a part of him had burned with the building. Holly was much more worried for him than she was for herself. He sat on a chair next to one of the beds while Dumbledore walked to the fireplace at the far end of the room. Holly followed him curiously. He threw in a pinch of powder, and small fire flared up, although there weren't any logs in the fireplace. Dumbledore called out, "Poppy Pomfrey."  
  
The face of a woman had appeared in the flames, causing Holly to start. Dumbledore observed Holly amusedly before turning back to the fireplace.   
  
"What can I do for you, Albus? School doesn't start for a month."  
  
"We have a rather unusual situation on our hands, Poppy. I will be requiring your immediate assistance."  
  
The witch simply nodded, as though speaking through a fireplace was an everyday occurrence. Moments later, Madam Pomfrey arrived through a whirl of green flame, shaking off her robes in a no-nonsense manner. "Now, Albus, what seems to be the . . . Great Merlin's Beard!" she exclaimed, catching sight of Holly. She looked over the young witch and shook her head. "Do I even want to know?"  
  
"Holly has had quite a rough evening, Poppy, but she seems quite resilient. Clean her up and then bring her to my office please. I shall be up there, speaking with Arthur." Dumbledore indicated Mr. Weasley, still sitting silently at the other end of the infirmary. He lowered his voice. "Could you also find a potion to help Arthur? He's had a terrible shock tonight himself."  
  
When Dumbledore had left with Mr. Weasley and the bottle of potion, Madam Pomfrey turned on Holly and tutted at her. "And what have you been getting yourself into? You look as though you lost a fight with a dragon. No, don't bother to tell me. Now, take off your cloak and let's have a look at you."  
  
Holly was perfectly fine with not getting into a discussion of the night's events. The more she spun it around in her head, the less she understood it. She laid the cloak carefully aside and noticed with a shock that the rich blue fabric was not only undamaged, but also perfectly clean. She didn't have long to consider the fact, as the Mediwitch began fussing over her, cleaning the multiple cuts on her arms she hadn't realized were there.  
  
"Ouch!" Holly recoiled from Pomfrey's ministrations over a particularly long gash. Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at her, then tapped the cut lightly with her wand. Holly cringed and looked away as a thick sliver of glass extracted itself from the cut.  
  
"Ok, young miss. Now I must know what on earth you did to yourself."  
  
Holly felt inexplicably embarrassed. "That must have been from when I went through the window."  
  
"You went through a window," Madam Pomfrey echoed vaguely. She applied a salve to the cut and immediately, the pain went away. Holly watched in amazement as the cut closed up before her eyes, leaving only a faint, pinkish scar in its wake. Madam Pomfrey continued to talk as she worked. "And why on earth did you go through a window?"  
  
"Well, it was the only way out, and the building was burning," Holly said.  
  
Madam Pomfrey began wiping the blood and soot from Holly's face with a warm, wet cloth. The liquid smelled faintly spicy and Holly could feel her skin tingling pleasantly. "A fire. Not another one of those horrid Death Eater attacks, was it?"  
  
Holly nodded, then coughed roughly.   
  
"We'll have to do something about that cough, too. Where were you? Where was the attack?"  
  
"The Ministry of Magic."  
  
Madam Pomfrey dropped the cloth she had been using and all the colour drained from her face. "The Ministry," she whispered through ashen lips. She sat down on the chair by the night table. "Dear Merlin. It's finally happened." She looked at Holly in slight awe. "How did you get out?"  
  
Holly pressed her lips together tightly. "A bit of luck, I guess."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment before Madam Pomfrey stood again and picked up the cloth. She dipped it in the basin of fresh potion and returned her attention to the cuts on Holly's face. "You and Harry." She muttered. "Must be some connection because you both seem to like trying to get yourselves killed."  
  
Holly said nothing.  
  
"You did a fair job of cutting yourself up," she said, applying a dollop of salve to each of the gashes. "Shouldn't leave any noticeable scarring. My ointments are the finest in the world."  
  
She tapped her wand smartly on Holly's head and Holly felt the sticky sensation of dried blood disappear. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at her hands. They were clean. The older witch surveyed her handiwork, but noticedshe wasn't quite finished. She swiftly leveled her wand directly at Holly's eyes and said, "Occulus Reparo."   
  
Holly had closed her eyes as soon as the wand had been aimed at her, and it took her a moment to realize that it wasn't an aggressive act. She opened her eyes and found, to her delight, that her glasses had indeed been fixed. She took them off and marveled at the repair job, then replaced them and looked up. Madam Pomfrey was rummaging through a cabinet. She returned with some blue liquid in a glass. "Drink up. This will clear the smoke from your lungs."  
  
Holly eyed the contents of the glass suspiciously, sniffed it, and then took a deep swig. The reaction was immediate, although she wasn't sure if the potion would remove the smoke from her lungs or everything from her nearly empty stomach.  
  
"Ugh!" she spat, turning slightly green. "What's in this stuff?"  
  
"You probably don't want to know. Now, take your cloak and follow me. Dumbledore is waiting.  
  
Holly unfolded her cloak and spun it around her shoulders, fastening the bird-shaped clip at her throat. Madam Pomfrey nodded in approval, then turned on her heel and strode out of the room. Holly nearly had to jog to keep up with the brisk pace.  
  
Feeling significantly better, Holly was now able to take in the peculiar sights of the school as she walked. It looked and felt neither exactly like a school, nor a castle, and not quite anything in-between either. It seemed like a living thing, the very walls pulsing with a nebulous sort of energy. It shook Holly with a bizarre sense of deja-vu. After endless flights of stairs, they followed a long hallway lit with sconces and lined with suits of armor. They finally stopped in front of a large gargoyle.   
  
"Fizzing Whizzbee," Madam Pomfrey said clearly. The statue sprang aside, and the stones of the wall pulled apart to reveal a long, spiral staircase that was slowly corkscrewing upwards.   
  
"Go on up now. Don't keep the Headmaster waiting. Let him know I'll be at home if he needs anything else. As for you, try to stay away from things that will get you killed. Eventually, one of them will succeed."  
  
Holly's cheeks flushed crimson. She felt like a schoolgirl again. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."  
  
Madam Pomfrey favoured her with a quick smile, then turned and retreated down the hallway. Holly watched her go, then carefully stepped onto the moving staircase. The deja-vu was growing stronger. The stairs went on forever, it seemed. She arrived on the landing in front of a richly varnished oak door. She reached up to the shiny brass knocker, but hesitated. What was she waiting for? She knew that the answers to so many questions probably lay behind that door. Sometimes, she realized, the answers can scare a person more than the questions. She had promised herself not to be afraid, she reminded herself staunchly. She grasped the knocker and announced her arrival.  
  
The door opened, and Dumbledore's tired eyes gazed at her from behind foggy half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Holly. You are looking much better. Come in, please."  
  
Holly followed him into the room and looked around in awe. The round office was warm and welcoming, with enough gadgets and gizmos to keep her curious for hours. Many had gleaming metal parts, and they tooted, whistled, and whirred softly on tables and shelves. There were books and small statues, and countless paintings. She put all this out of her mind when she saw Mr. Weasley. The wizard's eyes were as red as his hair, and faint white trails of salty tears graced his cheeks. He was twisting his hat in his hands, but he smiled when he saw her.   
  
"Holly, I'm glad you're ok. You're quite the young woman," he said thickly. He had obviously only stopped crying moments ago. The pain was still evident on his face.   
  
"I'm absolutely fine, Arthur. Really, I was more worried about you. Will you be ok? Is there anything I can do? You came to my rescue twice, really. I owe you."  
  
"No, but I'm sure I'll see you again. I really must be going. I'll need to tell the family." He stood and put his hat on his head. The hat was now severely disfigured, but Holly didn't have the heart to point it out.  
  
"I'll walk you to the edge of the grounds, Arthur. There are a few more things we need to go over anyway," Dumbledore said. He turned back to Holly. "Make yourself comfortable. I will return in a moment."  
  
Arthur shook Holly's hand warmly and wished her well, and the two wizards left, leaving Holly along in that fantastic room. She sat down on the plush, burgundy chair across from the desk and looked around. She began tapping her foot. She fidgeted. Finally, she gave in to her curiosity. She had an unfortunate talent for getting her nose into everything. Why stop now?  
  
She was examining the first table of gadgets without coming any closer to understanding them when a familiar song floated through the room.   
  
"Bram?" she asked, spinning around, but instead of the raven, a bird with brilliant scarlet plumage was flapping its wings on a broad perch tucked behind the desk. "Whoa. You're definitely not Bram, are you?"   
  
The phoenix bobbed his head and sang again, then cooed softly in his throat. Holly smiled and walked over to the bird and stroked his head. The feathers almost felt hot to the touch, but it was a comforting heat, unlike the flames she had faced earlier. "And what's your name?"  
  
The phoenix sang again, and Holly laughed. "You remind me of Bram, you know."   
  
Fawkes tilted his head with an amused expression and clacked in a perfect impression of the familiar raven. Holly's eyes widened. "Oh, so you know her, do you? I wish she were here. If it hadn't been for her, I'd probably be dead right now."  
  
Holly sighed and turned her attention back to exploring the office, under Fawkes's watchful eye. She put her nose just a little bit too close to a flask-shaped contraption, and received an eyeful of steam. Wiping off her glasses, she decided that the many gizmos and gadgets were possibly too risky, for now anyway. She looked over at a shelf of books, reading titles and authors she'd never heard of. "The Art of the Auror," by Catchem Cornwallis; "Hogwarts: A History, Unabridged", edited by Arabella Figg; "The Darkness Within," by Alastair Moody, and "When Sugar and Magic Collide," by Herman Honeyduke.   
  
She continued over the statues, calling out in surprise when a miniature marble lion roared at her, then stretched out and lay down. She was just as amazed when her cry of alarm was answered with a laugh from one of the paintings on the wall. An elegant witch in blue robes was sitting in a rather large painting over the mantle, watching her with interest. "My, my. Have we never before seen a statue move?"  
  
"Uh . . . no, I haven't. I've never seen a painting talk either, actually," Holly stammered. Was this normal around here?  
  
"Dear child, one would think you'd been raised by Muggles! At your age, really, being surprised by such simple things. Godric, what do you make of this? Godric, wake up!" She reached past the edge of her painting, and in the next frame over, Holly could see her hand lightly slapping an ornately dressed man on the shoulder.   
  
"Who, what? I was sleeping, what is it?" the wizard grumbled sleepily. He turned to the side in his chair and began snoring softly.   
  
"He sleeps all day anyway. You really were raised by Muggles, dear, weren't you? You poor thing. You'll learn. You've certainly come to the right place." The witches voice was soft and concerned. It reminded Holly of her vaguest memories of her mother. Holly shrugged, not really certain how to really talk to a painting. The woman yawned. "Well, it was nice to talk to you. Now, I believe I'm rather tired. Goodnight, dear."  
  
The witch in the painting sat back in her chair and dozed off. What was this world coming to? Talking paintings, roaring statues, what next? Holly scanned the shelves and her eyes fell on the most ancient, tattered hat she had ever seen. Grinning mischievously, and figuring the hat looked absolutely harmless, she lifted it gently and plopped it on her head. The hat was huge, and it almost fell past her eyes. She turned to find a mirror when another soft chuckle startled her. She looked over the paintings, but they were all very much asleep. She spun back and forth wildly, and the laugh turned to words, speaking softly right in her ear. "Confused, Holly? You're clever enough; I'm on your head."  
  
"What? Where? Oh!" She caught her reflection in the glass window of a cabinet door, and saw that the ripped and tattered hat had what appeared to be a face. "Who are you?"  
  
"They call me the Sorting Hat, Holly. Yes, I know your name. There's not a thing hidden between your ears I don't know. You're in quite an interesting situation."  
  
"I'll say. I'm talking to a hat that can read my mind."  
  
The hat chucked again. "It's not as though mind reading was something unusual to you. Ah, fascinating. This is something I haven't seen in a long, long time. Quite the character you are, but too old to be a student. If a hat could be, I would be grateful to know that I don't have to sort you."  
  
"Sort me?" The hat speaks in riddles, she mused to herself.  
  
"Into a House. There are four such houses at Hogwarts, each with its own qualities and merits. Most recently, you've had a long line of relatives in our Gryffindor house. Yes, you are a Potter, no doubt about that, but still, most curious. Hmmm."  
  
"You do speak in riddles," Holly admonished aloud this time.   
  
"I don't often find placing students to be so difficult. The last one what caused me such indecision was your own cousin."  
  
"My cousin?"   
  
Another voice answered her. "Quite possibly, as that would make the most sense, yes, your cousin."   
  
Holly pulled up the edge of the hat to see Dumbledore leaning against the doorframe of his office, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Holly blushed furiously. "Sorry, sir."  
  
"It's not a problem, Holly. I believe I would have been more disappointed if I had returned to find you sitting placidly, keeping to yourself." He moved pulled his chair out from behind his desk and sat, indicating for Holly to sit down opposite from him. "But now, it is time to answer some of your questions, as I'm sure you have many. In fact, I have some of my own, if you don't mind terribly."  
  
Holly carefully replaced the Sorting Hat on the self, then perched on the edge of the burgundy chair, her hands folded in her lap. She watched Dumbledore nervously. He seemed to be carefully considering what he was about to say. Finally, he spoke.  
  
"Holly, who are your parents?"  
  
What an odd way to start the conversation, she thought. "Anna and Donald Pritchard," she answered plainly.  
  
"Where do they live?"   
  
"My father lives in Newmarket. My mum . . ." Holly's voice became flat. "She died when I was six. I was pretty much raised by my dad. I want nothing to do with him. He made my life miserable for the last fifteen years, since mum died."  
  
Dumbledore tugged thoughtfully on his beard. "Do you remember how your mum died?"  
  
"Not exactly. What little I remember is like a bad dream." Holly's monotone was interrupted by a choked sob. She tried to hide it, but she couldn't bury it completely. She'd never spoken about this to anyone. "Sometimes, I think I saw it through her eyes. It was a terrible night, that night, but I could never remember enough details to answer the questions I always had."  
  
"What kinds of details do you remember?" Dumbledore asked softly. His voice reassured her.  
  
Holly's eyes drifted off over Dumbledore's shoulder, and her voice became distant. "I was never fully sure it if was a dream or not. It happened at night. She was trying to save someone else, I'm certain of it. She wasn't alone when she died. She was outside a large house, then suddenly inside the house. She was very upset. I remember a man with red eyes, and a flash of green light."  
  
She focused on Dumbledore again. "I'm sorry if I'm having trouble putting it into words. I've seen those same to things over and over in my dreams, but I'll never forget the sights and sensations from the first time, the night mum died. The other times, the settings were different, other people in the dreams were different, but always the red eyes, and the green light. For a long time, anything that glowed green had me scared stiff."  
  
Dumbledore was caught somewhere between rapt attention and deep thought. Holly seized the opportunity. "Sir, who is the man with the red eyes?"  
  
In one swift movement, Dumbledore sat bolt upright, his entire demeanor changed. "That man," he said deliberately, "is Lord Voldemort. He is a Dark Wizard, Holly. He killed many people, including your mother, it appears. Tonight, you nearly became another victim."  
  
Holly completely brushed over the idea that she'd almost been killed by an evil wizard. "He's been killing people all this time, and nobody has stopped him?" Holly asked, her face growing flushed with anger and frustration.  
  
"For almost ten years, he wasn't seen or heard from. Probably not long after your mother's death, Voldmort was stopped, albeit temporarily." Dumbledore spoke slowly, picking and choosing what he revealed. He was still uncertain of this young witch's lineage, but if his suspicions were correct, there would be more than enough time to explain everything else. The magnitude of the night's events was more than enough for most people to handle.   
  
"For some reason, a curse he tried to use to kill a young boy backfired. Voldemort was reduced to a shadow of his former self. Most people assumed he was gone, but alas, he wasn't. Now, he has regained his power. The terror has begun again."  
  
"And I got caught up in the middle of it," she said sarcastically. "Wonderful. I finally get away from home, and look at what happens. Great timing, Holly. Absolutely great."  
  
Dumbledore smiled quietly, noting how Holly had taken this information. Perhaps she was stronger than he had expected. Of course, so was her cousin. "I would like to know, as closely as you can tell me, what did happen on your trip, particularly over the last couple of days."  
  
Holly swallowed. She didn't even know where to begin anymore, her mind was being pulled in so many directions at once. The whole adventure was beginning to blend together. "The night before I left, my father gave me some of my mum's things; this cloak, some old letters, a key, a feather, and a few other odds and ends. I took them with me. They were the first real personal possessions of my mum I'd ever had." She paused, and forced back a small tear. "I stopped into a village a couple of nights ago to get more supplies, take a shower at the local inn, and then I would start out again in the morning. That seems to be when I got caught up in this whole mess."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, but did not speak, indicating for her to continue. She took a deep breath. "I was going back to the inn when I saw these men in dark robes surrounding the building. I tried to stay hidden, but when I realized they were going to kill the people inside, I couldn't just sit by and do nothing. Of course, it's not like I had any chance of stopping them, I just reacted. I have a tendency to get myself into trouble by acting on impulses like that."  
  
"Just like another young person I know," Dumbledore smiled. Holly looked at him questioningly, but he just inclined his head and motioned with his hand that it was still her turn to speak.  
  
Holly carefully recounted what she could remember of the Death Eater attack on the inn, Fudge's arrival, her stay at the Ministry of Magic, the fire, and her escape. She deliberately left out the fact that her survival almost completely relied on her apparent ability to hear people's thoughts, leaving some of it to luck, and the rest of it to details she forgot or didn't understand. How crazy would she sound if she admitted something like that? Finally, she collapsed backwards into her chair, and realized she was shaking. It had never occurred to her that reliving an event could take that much out of a person. "So, I guess I'm a part of this mess now too, one way or another. I don't know whether this is reassuring, or if it scares the living daylights out of me."  
  
She looked up at Dumbledore bleakly. He was gazing off into the fireplace at the side of the office, and his eyes were burning strangely, as though something in what she had told him was vitally important, but she couldn't understand what exactly that might be.   
  
From the perch behind the desk, Fawkes sang a comforting note. Holly could feel her muscles relax and stop shaking. Grateful for that little bit of support, she smiled and said, "Thanks, Fawkes."  
  
Dumbledore looked at her in surprise. "You know his name?"  
  
"Well . . ." What would Dumbledore think if she said she talked to animals? What a rediculous notion, under the best of circumstances. She sighed. Everything else so far had been far-fetched. "I asked him his name, and he told me. Doesn't make too much sense, does it?"  
  
"More than you might think, Holly. It appears you understand Phoenixsong."  
  
"So that's what he is? A phoenix? He sounds like Bram, and I've been listening to Bram since I was a little girl. I've had a way with animals since I can remember. They make better company than people most of the time. Their thoughts are simple and honest," she said, then adding with a scowl, "unlike most people."  
  
"Can you hear people's thoughts, Holly?" Dumbledure asked lightly, but under that, Holly knew the question carried a lot more weight. So much for avoiding the topic. She responded carefully, "I think so. I mean, I usually seem to be a step ahead of people, know what they're going to say next. I can always tell if someone is lying, and sometimes what they're lying about."  
  
"That's how you escaped from Fudge, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked. His voice wasn't accusing or harsh, but a wave of guilt immediately washed through Holly.  
  
"Yes sir," she said, knowing full well that her guilt was written clearly across her face. "I can't read everything, just really blatant things, usually. The only times I really heard anything more than just surface thoughts, it nearly floored me. Completely wiped me out. It still just sounded a bit rediculous, though, the idea of reading people's minds. Complete nonsense, at least, that's what my father told me."  
  
"It's not nonsense, Holly," Dumbledore said. His focus drifted slightly, and he mused softly to himself, "No, that's not nonsense at all."  
  
Dumbledore sat quietly for a moment, obviously considering this matter deeply. Holly wasn't certain if that was a good thing or not. She sat quietly, taking the opportunity to collect her own thoughts. She reached up and wrapped her hand around her pendant, for comfort. Now was the time to ask.  
  
"Sir, do you know my grandfather?"  
  
Dumbledore snapped out of his thoughts and replied absently, "Perhaps. Who is your grandfather?"  
  
"Harry Potter."  
  
The old wizard didn't speak immediately, but slowly began nodding his head. "There was a man called Harold Potter who may have been your grandfather. That is most certainly a possibility. Did you ever know him yourself?"  
  
"No, but my grandmother certainly did," Holly snapped. She was beginning to tire of questions, now wanting answers for herself. She held her edge for a moment, then sighed and sat back again. "She gave me this necklace a long time ago," she said, holding out the pendant. "My grandfather must have given it to her as a going-away present. I think they were separated by the war. It's where I got my last name."  
  
"May I see it?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
Holly shrugged, then reached up to unfasten the necklace, realizing that it was the first time she had ever removed it. Dumbledore took the piece in his outstretched hand and turned it over several times, observing the inscription on the back. He furrowed his eyebrows, then passed one hand over the pendant slowly, as though trying to feel something within it. Suddenly, his eyes widened. He stood and walked swiftly over to one of his shelves and took down one of his strange, whirling gadgets.   
  
"What are you doing with my necklace?" Holly asked, obviously anxious. "You're not going to hurt it, are you?"  
  
"No, no, not at all, I assure you," Dumbledore said, with a softness that belied the intensity of his actions. I am merely checking this necklace for spells and charms. He had placed the necklace in a small opening on the side of the charm-detector. One of the wheels whirled, a high pitched whistle sounded, and a crystal embedded in the top of the device glowed with a rich purple colour. Dumbledore smiled as he removed the necklace from the odd machine. He handed it to Holly. "It appears that your grandmother was very clever indeed. This is one of the best shielding charms I have ever seen."  
  
"Shielding charm?" Holly repeated, clipping the chain back in place, relieved as the familiar weight settled on her neck.  
  
"Shielding charms have many uses, Holly. Some protect the user from spells and hexes. Some camouflage the user from magical detection, or possibly inhibit the use of magic. Some do both, and I am fairly certain that this one was designed for both." Dumbledore settled himself back into his chair. "Why she wished to hide you is another matter entirely. There are a few possibilities, and I will tell you as soon as I know for certain. I will need more information, and it may take a couple of days for me to determine that."  
  
Holly looked dejected. "Great, more waiting." She leaned back against the edge of Dumbledore's desk.  
  
Dumbledore reached up and rested his hand on her shoulder. "I can give you some news you may be glad to hear. You do, indeed, have a cousin."  
  
Holly's head snapped up with renewed interest. "Is that what the hat was talking about?"  
  
Dumbledore laughed at the simple response. "If Harold Potter is actually your grandfather, a fact of which I have little doubt, then yes. One might have guessed the relation without any knowledge of the family history. You see, you look very much like Harry. Remarkably so, in fact, except for the eyes. Your eyes are very familiar. Perhaps I knew your grandmother . . ." Dumbledore froze mid-sentence. "Your grandmother," he whispered.   
  
Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, and once again his eyes searched Holly's. What he was looking for, she could only guess. Holly knew something important had just happened, but she had no idea what it was all about. "Did you know my grandmother?"  
  
Dumbledore didn't reply immediately. "Did you?" she asked again, becoming impatient.   
  
Finally, so softly she had to lean in to hear him, he said, "I think I did." 


	11. Casualties of War

Chapter 8   
Dear Sirius,   
The last couple of weeks have been great for the most part. Ron and I have played Quidditch almost every day, and the Weasleys have been wonderful to me. Hermione came to visit for my birthday. I wish I could visit you, but with Fudge bring so unpredictable, now is probably worse than ever. I'm hoping that I'll get to see you before school starts. Say hi to Professor Lupin for me. I know he's not a professor anymore, but he's still the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we ever had.  
  
Even though most of my stay here has been great, the last two days have been a bit more difficult. Last night, there was a raid on a Muggle house, and I somehow saw the whole thing happen, almost like I was watching through someone else's eyes. I must have blacked out, then I had the strangest dream. The next morning, we found out that Mr. Weasley had been fired after the raid. We think Fudge altered his memory, but we still don't know exactly why. Then tonight, while I was in the shower, my scar hurt again. Whatever Voldemort is doing, he's become very active these past few days. I thought you would want to know.  
  
I hope you're taking care of yourself and keeping your head low. Dumbledore is staying in touch, so don't worry about me. I'll be fine. The last thing I want is for you to get caught because of me. Stay safe, and keep your eyes open.  
~ Harry  
  
Hedwig hooted softly and held out her leg for Harry to tie the letter. "Just a minute Hedwig. Let me look it over."  
  
Hedwig ruffled her feathers indignantly, but submitted to waiting. Harry leaned his cheek against his hand and read through the letter again. He had decided that the more he belittled the events of the past two days, the more worried Sirius would become. Besides, at this point, the whole world seemed to be on edge over him. Why shouldn't his own godfather join the party?  
  
He sighed and thought back over the evening. He'd finished drying off and dressing as quickly as he could, and had gotten upstairs to Ron's bedroom. He had found Ron seated on the floor, absentmindedly flipping through his Chudley Cannons book. Hermione was sprawled across Ron's bed, reading Voldemort's book. She had immediately snapped the book shut when she saw him, and had jumped up to interrogate him for details about what had happened in the bathroom, with Ron close on her heels.  
  
"There isn't much to tell, Hermione," he had told her. "I was trying to rinse the remainder of Fred and George's prank out of my hair when my scar started to hurt."  
  
"I'm talking about when you smelled smoke. There was obviously no smoke in the house, but you were coughing like you were in a fire. Do you have any explanations?"   
  
Ron snorted. "Of course not, Hermione. He was waiting for you to explain it all."  
  
Hermione landed a swift punch to Ron's arm and turned back to Harry, leaving Ron rubbing his arm and cursing under his breath.  
  
"Not really, Hermione," Harry said, eyeing Ron cautiously. "Ron's right. I really was hoping that you did have an explanation."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, honestly, I do have an idea, but it's just a theory really. It could be totally wrong. I'll have no way of knowing until I check it out at the library, and really, we should ask Dumbledore, too. I was hoping to find something about it in that book . . ."  
  
"Hermione!" Ron howled, taking a quick step away from her. "Just tell us!"  
  
"Fine!" she snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She looked at Harry. "I think it may be a sign that you really do have the Mind Touch."  
  
"No . . . I can't possibly . . . Dumbledore himself said that he hadn't seen a trace of it, and he's been watching me for years. Why now? It just can't be me."  
  
"Well, what better explanation do you have?" she countered. "That someone else with the Mind Touch is sending you subliminal messages? What are the chances of that?"  
  
The conversation had died off. Harry had told them that he was tired and wanted to write a letter to Sirius before he went to bed. Now, sitting at Ron's desk with letter in hand, Hermione's words kept playing themselves over and over in his mind. Every time, his thoughts returned to the face he'd seen in his dream, peering back at him through the Mirror of Erised. It was too wild, too far-fetched, for him to share yet. Besides, what good would it do him? Such things were just dreams.   
  
Dumbledore had said it himself, "It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live." Since Harry's first encounter with the Mirror of Erised, reality had given him more than enough things to keep him occupied. For now, staying focused on that reality, as harsh as it was, might be enough to keep him, and his friends, alive.   
  
He shuddered, his hand subconsciously moving to the crook of his arm where Wormtail had cut him. Images of Cedric's body and the newly risen Dark Lord danced in front of his eyes. Yes, now was a good time to face reality.  
  
He rolled up the letter that was still lying on the desk in front of him. "Okay, Hedwig. It's ready."  
  
Hedwig hooted happily as he tied the letter to her leg. She gave him an affectionate nip, then soared out the window. Harry sighed as he watched her go. He was closing the curtains behind her when he heard a shrill scream. His heart skipped a beat.  
  
Harry raced to the stairs, nearly colliding with Ginny and Hermione as they spilled out of their room. They tripped over Ron, who had obviously just gotten out of the shower and was trying to tie on a robe as he ran. They heard the twins thundering down the stairs behind them.  
  
They burst into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley pale as a ghost, opening and closing her mouth without making a sound. Ron ventured forward. "Mum?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley didn't speak, but raised one hand and pointed at her unique family clock. Almost all of the hands pointed to "home." Mr. Weasley's was on "traveling," but Percy . . . Percy's hand was centered unmistakably on "mortal peril." As much as Percy annoyed everyone, this was not something that anyone had wanted to see, especially in such difficult times, especially with Voldemort.  
  
"Mum?" Ginny choked, walking up behind Mrs. Weasley and grabbing her arm tightly. Ron asked thickly, "When did this happen? Just now?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley shook her head. When she finally spoke, her words were tense and broken. "No . . . must have happened during the party . . . we were being too loud . . . never noticed. Went to see if Arthur was on his way home . . . found this . . . never expected . . . oh, Percy!" She burst into tears, tipping slightly on her feet as she shook.  
  
George rushed to the kitchen table and grabbed the nearest chair, swinging it behind his mother. Ginny and Hermione had Mrs. Weasley sit down, while Ron and Harry stood like Muggle statues, still staring at the clock.  
  
Fred broke the silence with an emotion that nobody had ever expected from him; guilt. "I called him a sell-out. The last thing I called him was a sell-out. I can't believe this."  
  
"He could still be ok, right mum?" Ginny pleaded, starting to cry. "I mean, we don't know for sure, do we?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley had covered her mouth with her apron and hot tears were squeezing from her eyes. "It could only be a Death Eater attack. That's all that ever happens now."  
  
Ron spoke again, "Percy was working late at the Ministry. It couldn't possibly, you don't think . . ."  
  
He was interrupted by a loud chime from the clock. Everyone held his or her breath as Mr. Weasley's hand moved from "traveling" to "home."   
Harry said, "I think we're about to find out."  
  
The kitchen door creaked open, and Mr. Weasley walked through, dragging his feet. He met the gazes of his family, and the look of total defeat on his face all but confirmed the worst.  
  
"Arthur, tell me it's not true," Mrs. Weasley sobbed as she rose from her chair and rushed to him. She planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and shook him. Her voice bordered on hysterics, "Please say it's not true! Where's Percy?"  
  
Mr. Weasley reached up and took her hands tightly in his, the anguish he felt was obvious in every movement. He looked into her eyes, which begged him for an answer he couldn't give. Finally, he bowed his head and shook it. Mrs. Weasley gasped, dropping his hands and bringing her hands up to her cheeks. "No, no, no, oh please, no," she stammered.  
  
"I'm sorry Molly. The Ministry . . . it's gone. It was in flames when I arrived. Percy . . ." He choked on the name, then grabbed Mrs. Weasley in a tight embrace.  
  
Ginny was sobbing unabashedly. Fred walked up behind her and placed his hands protectively on her shoulders. George moved to stand by his twin. Hermione finally burst into tears, whirling around and burying her face into Ron's shoulder. Ron automatically wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back as she sobbed, but his eyes were still locked on his parents. Harry stood by himself, torn between sorrow and rage. One more family torn apart by Voldemort. More lives ruined. Now, the Ministry had fallen. The wizard world seemed to be crumbling around him, even in the tiny corners of it that had always felt so safe. There, in the middle of the chaos, stood the Boy Who Lived. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn't.   
  
He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He was so famous for having stopped Voldemort once, but what good had it done? Voldemort was back, and he was completely helpless. He looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who hadn't moved an inch, still standing in the doorway. As much as Percy had never been his favorite person, he had never thought something like this would happen. He turned to the Weasley's clock. There was no spot that indicated a person was dead. Percy's hand was stuck on "mortal peril," and it showed no sign of moving anytime soon.  
  
Harry circulated the same thoughts around in his head, over and over, until a hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality. "Are you okay, Harry?" George asked him.  
  
Harry tried to respond, only to find that his throat was too tight to speak. He blinked, and discovered that his eyes had been pouring tears without him noticing. He pulled off his glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve. "Yes, George, I'm fine."   
  
George nodded solemnly. "You're a terrible liar."  
  
The comment actually prompted a strained laugh, which came out sounding more like a cough. "Thanks George. Are you okay?"  
  
George shrugged, then sniffled. He also had tear trails running over his freckled cheeks. "There not much to say. It still doesn't feel quite real." He looked up at the clock for himself. "Now I know why dad refused to have the word 'deceased' put on that thing. I don't think I could handle it right now." Harry nodded in silent agreement.  
  
Mr. Weasley walked past them to the clock. He pulled his wand from his pocket, pointed it at the center of the clock's face, and muttered a charm too softly for anyone else to hear. The hand with Percy's name fell off neatly in his hand. He gripped it tightly to his chest, then turned back to his family. Everyone was watching him now. He took a shuddering breath.   
  
"There's no place for second-guessing everything we could have done, or didn't do. It won't help. This is just one more reason why we need to stick together now."  
  
"Does Dumbledore . . .?" Mrs. Weasley began.   
  
"He already knows, Molly. He got there moments after I did. We were just too late. We tried to track him from Hogwarts, using some of Dumbledore's equipment, but there was no sign of him. There was nothing we could do, there was no way to know. In the meantime," he said, as a glint of fire returned to his eyes, "we're reorganizing and regrouping the Ministry. We have to. Fudge went down with the building, we're sure of it. We'll only have a small window of opportunity to do this right, to gain control of what we have before You-Know-Who tries to strike again. We need to take action, or more lives will be lost." His face dropped again. "We've had more than enough of that."  
  
There was a murmur of agreement from around the kitchen.  
  
"Is there anything we can do, dad?" Ginny squeaked.   
  
Mr. Weasley nodded. "We're going to need to contact some key people from the Ministry, and some others as well. Ginny, will you help your mum send out the letters?"  
  
Ginny pressed her lips together, but she looked resolute. She nodded, then forced a small smile. Harry noted that she was a lot tougher than he gave her credit for.  
  
Mr. Weasley addressed the rest of the room. "The cleanup and recovery effort at the Ministry will start tomorrow morning. We could certainly use extra hands." He lowered his voice. "We'll also need to arrange a memorial for Percy."  
  
"I'll do it," Fred said firmly, causing everyone to turn in surprise. "I owe it to him."  
  
"I'll help," George chimed in.  
  
Mr. Weasley smiled weakly. "Thank you boys."  
  
Hermione made a motion to speak, but suddenly seemed to reconsider.  
  
"What is it, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley encouraged her.  
  
"I was wondering, will Dumbledore be at the cleanup tomorrow?" she asked.  
  
"I don't know. He might be, but he's actually got his hands full with something else right now as well." Something in Mr. Weasley's voice was elusive, and his eyes drifted to the small, black-haired boy standing towards the back of the room. He looked at Harry strangely, almost as though seeing him for the first time. Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but Mr. Weasley changed the subject. "It's late now, and I think we all need to try and get some rest. We'll need it. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."  
  
Still clutching the hand from the clock, Mr. Weasley led the way out of the kitchen. One by one, everyone followed him up the stairs, Harry leaving the kitchen last. Nobody felt like sleeping, but most everyone opted for a sleeping potion, and one by one, the occupants of the Burrow drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. All except one, that is. Harry, as usual, wasn't so lucky.  
****************************************************************   
  
  
Through the dark shadows of sleep, vague images slowly emerged. Dark, hooded figures surrounded the house, and one of them had red eyes. He broke through the front door, and panic and chaos filled the house. Screams, struggle, and one of the voices fell silent. There was running, pounding footsteps, pounding heartbeats. Cornered in a small room, ragged breathing, silent tears. The boor blew open, met by the desperate cries of a woman longing to save her child.   
  
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" The vicious red eyes blazed with fury and bloodlust, staring deep into the child's green eyes. His voice was cold and cruel as he commanded her to stand aside. Her pleas only grew more frantic. "Not Harry! Please no, take me, kill me instead . . . have mercy."  
  
Voldemort's wand turned on the woman.  
  
Don't kill her! Leave my mum alone! Don't kill my mum . . . mother!!! A brilliant green flash of light flooded the room. . .  
  
And Holly awoke with a start. She moaned softly and rubbed her forehead. She had a splitting headache again. It took her a moment to realize where she was, and it was certainly not her own room, nor even her tent. She was in a grand four-poster bed with rich red curtains. Light was streaming in from the window at a high angle, letting her know immediately that the day was already well underway. She rolled over and reached for her glasses, only to find someone holding them out for her. She saw a long, white beard, and as she settled her glasses over her eyes, the face of Albus Dumbledore came into focus.  
  
"Good morning, Holly. I'd ask if you slept well, but judging by the condition of your blankets, perhaps I should ask if you won the wrestling match with the troll." His eyes twinkled.  
  
Holly looked down at her blankets. Half of them were hopelessly tangled around her legs, and the other half were on the floor. "Oops," she muttered, before realizing that she was sitting in front of the Headmaster of the school, and obviously looking like a fright. She reached up automatically and tried to flatten her hair, which she was certain must be sticking out everywhere.   
  
Dumbledore chuckled at the familiar gesture. "Do you like Gryffindor tower? I had guessed you might enjoy staying here. We have not yet re-labeled the rooms, thus you had no way of knowing, of course," his face broadcast his amusement. "Not only did you find your way into the boys dormitories, but I believe this is Harry's bed."  
  
Holly laughed. "You're kidding me, right? What a hoot." Holly surveyed the room in the bright daylight. She didn't remember too much from when she had arrived in Gryffindor tower last night. Dumbledore had cut short the conversation, saying he needed to research something, and that she obviously needed some rest. She would have argued, but had been interrupted by an enormous yawn.   
  
He had led her to the Gryffindor common room, and told her to make herself comfortable. The dormitories were up the stairs, and he would be sending up something for her to eat in a moment. She had just settled in front of the fire when the most curious creature she had ever seen had appeared, bearing a plate of sandwiches, a flagon of pumpkin juice, and a full set of clean pajamas. He called himself Dobby, and, much to her chagrin, he kept referring to her as "Harry Potter's cousin" until she had practically demanded that he call her Holly. He seemed quite impressed with Harry, so she supposed it couldn't be such a terrible thing.   
  
Holly returned her attention to the present and looked up at Dumbledore mischievously. "So, when am I going to get to meet Harry? I've never had much of a family; I'd love to get to know him."  
  
"Not quite yet, Holly, but you will eventually." Dumbledore smiled at her, then became more somber. "I only came up to check on you because you had slept so long. I wanted to be sure you had recovered from yesterday's ordeal, but now, I have another question for you. What were you just dreaming about?"  
  
Holly looked at him, perplexed. "How did you know I was dreaming?"  
  
"Because not only were you thrashing like a caged hippogriff, you also talk in your sleep."  
  
"I didn't know that. I guess you learn something new everyday," she said, obviously avoiding the subject.  
  
"Holly," Dumbledore said softly. "If you please . . ."  
  
"There's no getting out of this, is there?" she asked with a sigh.   
  
Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "I already have a fairly good idea about the nature of that dream, but if you please, I would like for you to tell me."  
  
Holly grabbed her pillow and hugged it tightly in front of her. She turned her head and looked out the window as she spoke. "It was another dream like the one I had the night my mum died. It's always just a tiny bit different each time, but I can never really make out the faces, I can never quite remember what people are saying."  
  
"How many people are there?" Dumbledore pressed.  
  
"Well, the man with the red eyes; Voldemort," she began counting off on her fingers. "The second man died first, then the other woman, then my mum." She sat there, staring at her hand with four fingers outstretched. Dumbledore watched her carefully. She closed her eyes, searching for something she felt she should already know. Her mum had tried to save someone, and Holly was sure she had succeeded, but she couldn't see the person anywhere in her memory. Still, he was there. Slowly she uncurled her thumb, making a full count of five.   
  
She muttered to herself, "He was there. I couldn't see him, but he was there. Mum did it, she saved him."  
  
"Saved who, Holly?" Dumbledore asked quickly, but she didn't hear him. She had retreated to the quiet space in the back of her mind, juggling ideas and images, faster and faster. She continued speaking softly, almost as though in a trance. "The other woman died trying to protect him, but mum stopped the curse. Still can't see him . . . somewhere else. I know him from somewhere else. The dream with the mirror, he has green eyes, something on his forehead . . . "   
  
Holly made a sudden connection, and she realized that her small epiphany matched the thoughts of the other occupant of the room. Her eyes snapped open. "You knew," she said sharply. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I wasn't certain of it, not completely," Dumbledore said. "I was looking for more clues, but when I heard you calling out in your sleep, I was sure. I wanted to give you a chance to discover it for yourself."  
  
Holly punched the pillow. "That's a pretty tough thing to discover for yourself. Still, it could be worse, I suppose. Now I know what my mum died for, and I know she really didn't die for nothing. She was trying to save my uncle first, but then, when that didn't work, she managed to help my cousin."  
  
"Your whole family has a very special history. In time, you'll learn much more about it. Today, in fact, we will begin working on teaching you what you need to know."  
  
"Really? What exactly is to become of me? I don't know a thing about magic, so am I going to learn about that, too? I really don't have anywhere else to go. After all this, I don't think I could ever truly return home, not for good."  
  
Dumbledore's tone was reassuring. "You may stay here for a couple of days. It's the safest place you could be. After that, we can begin working on a more permanent arrangement, at least until the start of classes."  
  
Holly's eyes widened. "Classes?"  
  
"You are too old to be a student, but under these unique circumstances, you really must begin learning how to be a witch, and there are some things you can only learn properly at Hogwarts. I shall have to determine how we are to accomplish this later." Dumbledore's mouth became a thin frown. "I must also make you aware of the fact that if certain wizards discover the truth about you, you will become a target."  
  
"A target? Me? Why on earth would anyone want to target me?" Holly was astounded.  
  
"Do you remember how I told you that Voldemort disappeared for almost a decade at one point?"  
  
Holly nodded. "You said that he tried to kill a young boy, but the curse bounded back and . . . oh my god. It was Harry." Holly released her grip on her pillow and leaned backwards, propping herself on her hands. Some of the colour drained from her tanned features and her eyes lost focus. One by one, in rapid succession, the last pieces fell into place. When she refocused, Dumbledore spoke again.  
  
"How Harry survived, and how Voldemort fell, has been a mystery for fourteen years. There was always a missing piece of the puzzle, regardless of how carefully we tried to fit it into place." He peered over the edge of his spectacles. "You have just provided the last piece to the largest mystery in the wizard world."  
  
Holly sat back up, once again wrapping her arms around her pillow. "How did I get into this mess?"  
  
"It wasn't an act of your own doing," Dumbledore said solemly. "Nor was it Harry's choice to become involved either. For now, there is little we can do to change the matter, but it is always better to face difficult things on a full stomach. It is nearly lunchtime. Get cleaned up and dressed. I'll have Dobby come for you in an hour. Then, I will explain to you the events that have led up to our current situation. It may take some time, but you need to know. Your road ahead will not be easy, but neither you nor Harry are alone in this battle."  
  
With that, he stood and excused himself from the room. Holly sat still for a moment, rolling things around inside her head. Finally she smirked to herself. "This is too wierd." She untangled her legs from the blankets and went in search of a hot shower.  
  
****************************************************************   
Harry's feet sweltered in his sneakers as he climbed over the smouldering pile of rubble that was once the Ministry of Magic. He mentally thanked Charlie for the loan of the dragon-hide gloves, which were the only way it was possible to handle the hot pieces of brick and stone. He looked out over the scene. Mr. Weasley was standing off to the side of the remains of the building with two Ministry officials Harry didn't recognize. They were sorting through the findings and talking quietly amongst themselves. Perhaps they were discussing the future of the Ministry itself.   
  
Ron and Hermione were digging diligently just thirty meters away. Every so often, Hermione would aim her wand at a patch of still-burning wreckage and shoot a small jet of water at it. Charlie Weasley was working nearby as well, and Bill was expected to arrive shortly. Throughout the area, dozens of other witches and wizards were working with their hands and wands, moving debris and hoping to find anything that hadn't been completely destroyed. Even underage witches and wizards had been given permission to use chilling charms and watering spells during the recovery effort. Harry mentally thanked the remaining members of the Ministry for that as he said, "Fieri Alsus," and sent another chilling charm at the bricks under his feet.   
  
Fred and George were conspicuously absent from the scene, taking their promise to Percy's memory very seriously. Perhaps there was more to the twins then they liked to show. They had also promised to come to the Ministry later to assist the recovery effort.  
  
Harry shifted another large piece of concrete and a puff of smoke rose up around him, making his eyes water and his throat burn. He took a step back, trying to fan the smoke away with his hand as he sputtered and coughed. He grabbed his wand and said, "Aquatus Effundo." A jet of water doused the embers and steam displaced the smoke. When it cleared, he finished moving a few more stones and bricks, then began digging through the ashes and debris beneath. He found a cracked safe, containing some charred parchments, then part of a desk. It was yet another office; Harry had found three so far.   
  
He dug through some ash and his hand hit something solid. He pulled out a badly burned, yet still intact book. He dusted off the cover, where part of the title was still legible. "Pref . . . Who . . . ained Pow . . ." Harry remembered that title. He had seen Percy carrying it around back at Hogwarts. Harry's heart sank. He had seen enough death that day. He didn't want to be the one to bring that book to Mr. Weasley. He didn't want to be the one to find Percy, not that he felt there would be much to find. Very few bodies had been found, and the ones that had . . . were hardly recognizable. It had taken a huge toll on the other people working that day, but everyone had stayed strong, supporting each other.  
  
Ironically, in the midst of this mess, one burden seemed to lift itself from him. Seeing the destruction caused by Voldemort, for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament, Harry realized that Cedric's death was not his fault. Cedric had been a casualty in a struggle that was far beyond Harry's personal scope and abilities. Then, like now, Harry had seen the aftermath, and then, like now, he shouldered the task of bringing back signs of the casualties, and sometimes more than just signs. Unlike the incident with Cedric, Harry didn't have to bear this responsibility alone. He looked around and knew he was working with part of a larger team.  
  
After several more minutes of this work, Harry stood upright and wiped the sweat from his brow. He picked up the things he had found, including the book, a smokey and tarnished Head Boy badge, a set of keys, the parchments, someone's pocketwatch, and a slightly melted rubber duck. Slowly, he picked his way back to Mr. Weasley with his findings.  
  
He didn't see the long, wormlike tail sticking out from between two chunks of brick, twitching back and forth. A dull-looking brown rat with a silvery white front paw was also doing his own recovery mission. He chittered and squeaked as he pushed around hot debris and tiny stones with his paws. There was something under there, he was sure of it. He pulled back a piece of charred cloth, revealing something shiny. He pried at it, and a brilliant crystal came loose from the ash. He regarded it for a moment. It was perfectly clean and undamaged. This was certainly a bigger prize than it appeared to be. He took it carefully between his teeth and snuck back to the edge of the woods. His master would be pleased. 


	12. Saying Goodbye

Chapter 9  
  
There weren't many things that could have kept Holly's attention away from the many fascinating sights around the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore's account of the history of Lord Voldemort was definitely one of those things. Holly remained largely silent while Dumbledore related the long tale to her. There were holes in the story, to which Dumbledore readily admitted. He did not have a clear memory of her grandmother, although he expressed certainty that the spy in question that Voldemort had sought was indeed her grandmother. He did not know her grandmother's family history, but he described, in rich detail, the family history of the Potters, going back to the time of her grandfather through their inescapable encounter with the Dark Lord.  
  
He explained Voldemort's search for power, the cases of mistaken identity, and the unusual circumstances of Voldemort's downfall. He finally told her how Voldemort had reemerged over the past few years, and how her own cousin had been trapped in the middle of the turmoil. Holly had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from choking up over the pain of a boy she had never even met in person.  
  
After a long time, the Headmaster fell silent and waited for the young woman seated before him to process all this information. She stared at the wall and twisted her lip in concentration. "Voldemort is magically connected to Harry, because of how the curse hit him. Wouldn't Harry also somehow be connected to my mother?"  
  
"If she were alive, it is quite possible, but there is no way to ever know that." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I am thinking that he has more of a connection to you."  
  
"That explains the dreams I've had."  
  
"So it would seem," Dumbledore replied. "Harry has had more than his share of interesting dreams. Some might have even been visions."  
  
Holly considered this, then asked cautiously, "How can you tell if something is inevitable?" Dumbledore tried to appear confused, but Holly saw right through it, and she continued, "I had a dream a few weeks ago, and it was more vivid than almost all the others. Someone died in it, and I think it was Harry."  
  
Dumbledore exhaled deeply and his shoulders slumped. "Nothing is ever set in stone, Holly." His voice was tired. "The future is always in the hands of those who control the present."  
  
There was more than one meaning to that response, Holly was sure of it. "What are you hiding from me?"  
  
Dumbledore cracked a knowing smile. "We really can't keep a thing from you, can we?" Holly glared at him over the tops of her glasses and folded her arms. Dumbledore nodded and answered, "During the rise of Voldemort, a prediction was made. It most certainly appeared to have come to pass, with Harry. Now, it appears that part of the prediction may have been misinterpreted."  
  
"Misinterpreted how?"  
  
"Part of this prediction that was believed to refer solely to Harry may also refer to you."  
  
If Holly was taken aback by this, she covered it well with irritation. Plopping her chin on the cupped palms of her hands, she mumbled to herself, "Ah. Yes. Wonderful. Very good. Just what I need. In twenty-four hours, not only do I find out I'm a witch, I'm also a target for evil wizards and I'm part of some insane prediction. Outstanding." She looked up at Dumbledore's amused expression. "Do you have this prediction written somewhere?"  
  
"There is one written copy, but unfortunately, it is not in my possession at the moment, and no, I do not have it memorized." As though suddenly remembering something, he pulled out a gold pocket watch and studied it carefully. Holly cranned her neck and saw that, like everything else around there, the watch was not normal. She had just long enough to observe tiny planets moving around the face of the watch before Dumbledore flipped it closed again and said, "Right now, we are expecting a visitor at any moment."  
  
Holly's face lit up. "Is it Harry? Arthur Weasley?"  
  
"No, Holly, we can't do that quite yet, I'm afraid."  
  
"But why . . ." Holly was interrupted when the fireplace blazed with green flames and a fairly average-looking man stepped through. He was wearing plain robes, and despite an apparent age of mid-thirties, his light brown hair was speckled with grey.  
  
"Remus!" Dumbledore greeted him merrily. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Right on time, too."  
  
"Anything I can do to help, sir. Sirius was in a fit because I wouldn't let him come. Wants to know what's going on, and he's driving himself into a stir over Harry's last letter." He paused and turned, almost hesitantly, towards Holly and looked her over. "It's really true, then. How is this possible?"  
  
"It's a very long story, Remus, but I assure you, it's quite possible. I will fill you in on the rest of the story soon, but for now, we much finish making arrangements."  
  
Holly looked between the two wizards. "Arrangements for what?"  
  
Dumbledore actually appeared slightly sheepish. "I should have told you before, but in light of our conversation earlier, and how late you slept, I ran out of time. Holly, meet Remus Lupin. He was previously a professor here, and has also been a long-time friend of your family."  
  
Holly stood and shook Lupin's hand in greeting, saying, "Nice to meet you." She then turned back to Dumbledore. "What does this have to do with me?"  
  
Lupin picked up on the cue. "Professor Dumbledore asked me if I would be willing to let you stay at my house and begin teaching you wizarding skills. There are some things which I should really leave to the other professors, but I can give you a head start before classes begin."  
  
"Will I see Harry there?" Holly's mind was now stuck on one track. So many new faces all at once, and only one of them bore a resemblance to hers. That seemed to be the one face she was being prevented from seeing.  
  
"I'm sorry, Holly," Dumbledore conceded. "Not this time."  
  
"Why can't I see him?" Holly growled angrily. "I've had almost no family most of my life, here's a member of my family I've never met, I've heard all about him, but I don't get to meet him? What kind of joke is that?"  
  
"It's not a joke. It's actually quite serious, and there are several reasons to keep you apart right now."  
  
"Such as?" Holly folded her arms skeptically.  
  
"Harry is one of the largest targets in the magical world. If word about you somehow got out, if anyone figured out who you were, and you happened to be in the same place as Harry, I do not think we would be able to protect you, outside of Hogwarts."  
  
"What if I don't want to be protected?"  
  
"Remember that you would also be putting Harry at the same risk."  
  
Holly cringed, nodded, then asked, "What are the other reasons?"  
  
Dumbledore was considering his answer when the fireplace flared up again and man with longish, slightly unkempt black hair tumbled into the room, stormed up to Lupin, and began to yell irritably.  
  
"That's it, Moony! I've waited long enough. You said someone might be coming to the house, and it has to do with Harry, and I'm worried sick! What's going on?" He was nearly nose to nose with his friend. Lupin wrinkled his face in disgust and wiped a fleck of spit from his cheek. He leaned back slightly and jerked his thumb to the side, towards Holly. Sirius shot him a quick glare, then turned to see what Lupin was pointing at. He did a double-take.  
  
"What in Merlin's name?" he stammered before rushing to Holly, eyes wide. "What's going on here? This isn't Harry, is it? They didn't curse him into being a woman, did they?"  
  
Lupin moved to stop Sirius's outburst, but Holly had beaten him to it. She was on her feet, toe to toe with the frantic wizard, which was somewhat comical, as she was more than half a foot shorter than him. "Cursed? Excuse me? Whoa, buddy. My name is Holly, if you please. Now relax, take a deep breath, and back down. Sit. Stay. Good dog."  
  
Sirius automatically backed down and sank into the nearest chair, his eyes threatening to jump out of their sockets. He turned to Dumbledore, who seemed to find the whole incident very amusing. Sirius's mouth barely moved as he said, "Tell me this is a joke. You've enchanted Harry, and it's just a new way to hide him, and he's going to come stay with us, although I must admit he makes a better boy."  
  
Lupin had to grab Holly before she launched a full attack on Sirius. "Of all the nerve! What a thing to say! Who the hell is this guy?" Holly was livid, Remus was laughing hysterically, and Sirius began to look purely confused. "That's not Harry?"  
  
Dumbledore finally intervened. "No Sirius, she is not Harry. She is, however, Harry's first cousin. She will need a place to stay for a time, and under the circumstances, I had asked Remus if he would be willing to take on another boarder."  
  
"And you didn't bother to ask me, or even tell me? Why not?" Irritation was starting to show in Sirius's demeanor.  
  
"Ah, Sirius, I had wanted to be sure Holly was open to the arrangement before making any final decisions, and then I would have informed you immediately. I wanted to give you a chance to adjust to the idea before meeting Holly to avoid subjecting her to your inevitable 'reaction'."  
  
Sirius now looked absolutely embarrassed. He glanced at Holly sideways and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . . Hey! How did you know . . . why did you give me dog commands?"  
  
Holly shrugged. "You listened, didn't you?"  
  
Dumbledore laughed heartily, but now it was Lupin's turn to look confused. "Yes, why did you do that? Dumbledore, you didn't tell her, did you?"  
  
"Tell me what?" Holly asked.  
  
"No, I did not tell her," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, "but I would advise you to be completely honest with this woman. There's not a thing you can hide from her without her being aware of the deception."  
  
"Tell me what?" Holly demanded, raising her voice. "I mean, he's not really a dog . . . but then . . ." Holly looked at him strangely. Sirius made a sound like a whimper in his throat. She finally smiled at him. "And who are you, now?"  
  
Sirius lifted himself part way out of his chair and extended a hand. "Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. Nice to meet you."  
  
She shook his outstretched hand. "Holly Potter. It's a pleasure, I think." She winked at him to let him know she was just teasing. The tension in the room diminished significantly.  
  
Sirius took a deep breath and asked, "Professor Dumbledore, sir, how is this possible? How could we not have known?"  
  
"That is the same long story I will be telling tonight, which is the other reason I needed to contact both of you. We will be holding a meeting tonight to discuss the next step in reestablishing the ministry, and we will also be sharing this development," he indicated Holly.  
  
Lupin swallowed and sank into a chair. "So it really is true. The Ministry is gone," he said in a dry voice. "I didn't want to believe it."  
  
"The Ministry building," Dumbledore said forcefully, his voice radiating strength, "is gone. Some lives were tragically lost. The heart and soul of the ministry is still quite viable. From the ashes of this tragedy, we will create a new order."  
  
Holly watched this whole exchange carefully. She cleared her throat. They all looked at her. "So, if I'm going to be living a whole new life here, with these people, I'm going to have to do a few things first. I need to get some clothes from home eventually. I suppose I'd at least owe it to my father to say goodbye, although I don't much care either way. He comes home in the afternoon. Best bet is to catch him in the evening."  
  
Lupin nodded. "We'll also need to get you a wand, I'm sure. Take a trip down to Olivander's. That means we'll have to disguise you somehow. We can't parade you around when, well, the resemblance is too obvious. The glasses will have to go."  
  
"No way. I'm blind as a bat without them." She sighed. "I do have contact lenses at home though. I could wear them for a little while if I needed to."  
  
"Contact lenses?" asked Sirius.  
  
"Never mind that, Sirius," said Dumbledore, patting him on the shoulder. "Holly will be able to return home this evening to retrieve her belongings. We can then begin her training properly."  
  
"And we'll return home for now," said Lupin as he stood and stretched. "We'll set up a room for Holly, and Sirius will attempt to make himself presentable for the meeting tonight, won'tcha boy?" Lupin patted Sirius on the head furiously.  
  
Sirius swatted at him. "Stop that! I am perfectly presentable."  
  
Lupin ducked out of arm-range of Sirius and shook his head.  
  
"What then?" Sirius asked, very irritated.  
  
Lupin pointed at Sirius's feet, and everyone in the room looked down at a very furry pair of pink bunny slippers. "Oh, those . . . well . . . My feet were cold!"  
  
Everyone laughed, except for Sirius. Dumbledore began herding the two younger wizards towards the fireplace. "The meeting shall start at midnight. I will have contacted everyone else by then. Arabella is out of contact, but we should have two people returning from missions tonight. You take care of yourselves." Lupin thanked Dumbledore and stepped through the fireplace, but Sirius paused and looked back at Holly for a long moment, his emotions a mix of sadness and uncertainty.  
  
She was not Harry. She looked to be a couple of years older, and her life had been different, but still, her resemblance to her cousin seemed to go beyond the physical appearance. Sirius found himself suddenly feeling protective of the young witch. Perhaps, where he'd been unable to protect Harry, he might be able to do something to help Holly. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, inclining her head towards him, and then he was gone.  
  
Dumbledore turned to Holly. "I have some thing to which I must attend. If you wish, please feel free to explore the school and grounds. Just be aware that the third floor corridor on the left-hand side is prohibited, and I must tell you not to venture into the Dark Forest beyond the grounds. I will contact you when it is time to retrieve your things."  
  
"Thank you, sir." She hesitated, and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. She smiled. "Thanks for everything. I mean it. And Remus and Sirius seem very nice, although I think Sirius could use a sedative. He really takes his role as godfather seriously, doesn't he?"  
  
"You don't have to be able to read minds to see that. He most certainly does."  
  
"That would explain it. Now, the other thing. Why do I picture a large, black, shaggy dog whenever I look at him?"  
  
*********************************************************  
  
"Stop chittering like a rat, Wormtail, and get in here."  
  
The door creaked open and Peter Pettigrew stepped into the room, his hands tucked behind his back. Voldemort was seated in his usual chair before the fireplace, drumming his fingers together lightly. "What are your findings?"  
  
"My Lord, almost nothing remained. Arthur Weasley seems to be taking charge of their recovery effort."  
  
"How interesting. Won't Malfoy be pleased. Now, there's something else, is there?"  
  
Pettigrew's head bowed, and he fumbled with something behind his back. "As I was spying, I began scouring the wreckage. My right paw began tingling over one spot. I dug down, and I found this. It has some sort of spell or charm on it."  
  
He held out the small crystal, which was still gleaming brightly. Voldemort plucked it out of his hand swiftly, making Pettigrew flinch, then looked over the shiny stone. He placed it on the table in front of him, then passed his wand over it like a dowsing rod. His eyes narrowed in a sinister smirk. "Very good, Wormtail. This stone has a protective charm placed on it, and it's linked to something. Bring this to McNair." He placed the crystal back in Pettigrew's hand. "Have him trace the charm. Discover what has been linked to it."  
  
Pettigrew blurted quickly, "What shall we do when we trace the link?"  
  
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Just when I began giving you some credit for not being a complete idiot. You will find the link, and then you may 'investigate' the location at sunset. No point in missing an opportunity, is there?"  
  
"No, my Lord . . . I mean, yes my Lord . . . I mean," Pettigrew squeaked.  
  
"Wormtail, leave before you begin to irritate me."  
  
"Yes, my Lord!" Pettigrew fled the room.  
  
**************************************************************  
  
Supper at the Burrow that evening was more quiet than anyone could remember it. The day had been busy enough to keep everyone slightly distracted. Harry was almost grateful for the ache in his shoulders and back from the day's labours. He felt that if he were to be too comfortable, it would be wrong somehow. At least, the soreness gave him something to keep his mind occupied. Although the guilt over Cedric's death had been lessened, the memory brought another kind of pain now. People around him were disappearing.  
  
He picked absentmindedly at his potatoes, letting his thoughts drift. This must have been what it felt like before Voldemort fell from power fourteen years ago. With that understanding, he could see why people refused to even speak Voldemort's name. He could also see why people regarded his own self so highly, although he still wished they wouldn't. He had no idea how he'd really stopped the Dark Lord in the first place, if it was even really his doing at all. It may possibly not have been him at all, he mused. He certainly had no idea how to stop Voldemort now. He was no hero, nobody's poster-child, not really. He just seemed to be the heir of a legacy out of his control and beyond his understanding. He just hoped he had the courage to live up to that legacy.  
  
Ron elbowed him lightly, pulling him from his thoughts. The Weasley's were picking up their plates and leaving the table silently. Penelope Clearwater would be arriving shortly. Harry looked out the window and saw the sun beginning to brush the tops of the trees. He nodded grimly at Ron as he stood. This was not going to be an easy evening.  
  
**************************************************************  
  
"Dumbledore, sir?"  
  
The Headmaster spun his chair around towards the fireplace. "Ah, Sirius. I was expecting you to contact me sometime this afternoon, although I must say I had thought you would not wait this long. Please, come right over."  
  
Dumbledore reached onto his desk and closed the book he had been examining, folding several sheets of parchment between the pages. He tucked the book into a desk drawer as Sirius came through the fireplace. "Professor Dumbledore, I need to talk to you."  
  
"I had assumed that much already, Sirius," Dumbledore laughed softly.  
  
"Oh, yes, right." Sirius sat on the edge of nearest chair and hunched over, hands in his lap. "First, I wanted to say I was sorry for how I behaved. I was out of line, and if Holly is in any way still mad at me, I wanted to be able to apologize to her."  
  
"I do not believe Holly is still mad at you, and she seems to be looking forward to staying at Remus's place. She's a very perceptive witch, and once you had calmed down, she could see that you were merely very protective of Harry."  
  
Sirius nodded, running his fingers through the back of his hair, scratching thoughtfully. "That's another thing I was wondering. That was absolutely uncanny. Did she actually know I'm an Animagus?"  
  
"Not precisely," said Dumbledore. "She does, however, have a somewhat rare magical trait that enables her to understand people's minds, to give a very crude description. It's an ability that hasn't been seen in Britain for a very long time. Holly does not truly understand this herself. She has also been separated from the magical community for most of her life, and has been thrown into this in a very harsh manner. It is a wonder she's adjusted as well as she has, but once the events of the past two days begin to sink in, she will probably need some support. I was hoping that you might be able to provide that."  
  
Sirius had folded both of his hands behind his head. "Sometimes, sir, I think you can read minds, but that's part of what I had come to ask about. If I can't help out Harry directly right now, perhaps I can help Holly. They're so much alike; I can't help but feel protective."  
  
"Be careful not to become to overtly protective, Sirius," Dumbledore admonished sternly. "She is not Harry, although many of their similarities are more than coincidence of their blood relation. I have some thoughts on that concept, but now is not the time for such things. She does need to be protected, as she could become a target at any time. Still, judging by what little I know of her, she would probably take great offense to someone being over-protective. She's an adult, and what she needs is a friend."  
  
"I'm willing to try, sir, but I'm still wondering, why can't she at least meet Harry? Keeping them in the same place for a long period of time might be risky, but why not introduce them?"  
  
The Headmaster sighed softly, then leaned forward on his desk. "I will give you the full details tonight, as much as I know, but for now, let me explain it this way. The night Lily and James died was also the night Holly's mother died, and the events are closely related. Holly wasn't there, physically, but she was able to witness it. Somehow, she and Harry formed a bond that night. She survived, Harry survived, and Voldemort survived. The fact that they have remained physically separated all these years has prevented that bond from manifesting itself fully."  
  
Sirius wrinkled up one side of his face, not making sense of any of this. "Why would that be such a bad thing?"  
  
"It is already quite obvious that Harry will be an extremely powerful wizard. He has demonstrated this strength in his encounters with Voldemort. He has inherited traits from his parents, but also from Voldemort through a magical bond. Holly is in a similar situation. It is likely that not only has she inherited her abilities in witchcraft and wizardry from her mother, she may also share traits with Harry through the bond I suspect they share. The problem lies in that she has not had four years of magical training, and that I do not yet know how profound this bond may be. Holly has only survived the last two days out of an unlikely combination of luck and cleverness. I suspect that if the bond between Holly and Harry strengthens itself fully, Voldemort may become aware of it. If they are not ready, I do not know how we could protect either of them."  
  
Sirius sat quietly for a moment. He finally whispered softly, "Will this ever be over, Dumbledore? Will we ever be able to live normally, without worrying every minute of the day whether we'll loose somebody else close to us?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I hope so, Sirius. Someday, yes, I hope so. This evening, the Weasley's are holding a small, private memorial service for Percy. I will be attending if it is at all possible. None of us wish to see any more such services."  
  
Siruis looked dumbfounded. "Percy?? I didn't know. My god, was it from the Ministry attack?"  
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes for a brief moment and bowed his head slightly. "He was one of many. Too many." Dumbledore opened his eyes again and peered over the tops of his spectacles at Sirius. "For now, you can help Holly. Try to avoid the topic of why she can't see Harry, but tell her what she needs to know. Tonight, she needs to retrieve some things from her house. As much as she claims to hate her father, this may not be easy for her. If you wish . . ."  
  
"I'd love to go with her," Sirius said quickly, a grin returning to his face. "What can make a person feel better than a lovable, shaggy dog?"  
  
"Pink bunny slippers, perhaps?" Dumbledore said causally. The veins on Sirius's neck bulged slightly, but Dumbledore simply picked up a small candy dish and held it towards the flustered man. "Lemon drop?"  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Harry stood behind the small group of family and friends that had gathered behind the Weasley's garden. The sun had dipped behind the edge of the nearby hills, throwing a golden glow on the tops of the trees and the roof of the Burrow. It was a beautiful afternoon, but somehow, that wasn't much of a comfort. Penelope had arrived, and it was obvious that she had already cried herself nearly to the point of exhaustion. Every so often, another strangled sob escaped her. She stood near the front of the group, clinging to Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley was close behind his wife, with his hands on her shoulders. Ever so often, she would reach up and grab his hand, just to remind herself that he was still there. Bill and Charlie had charged themselves with taking care of Ginny. Ron stood just behind them, next to Hermione. Harry had chosen to stand by himself, behind all of them.  
  
Fred and George and prepared quite a memorial for Percy; a statue of a lion to represent Percy as a Gryffindor. In front of it had been laid Percy's Head Boy badge, which Harry had found in the fire, and the old Prefect badge that had been left on the shelf at home. Penelope had left a bouquet of flowers, and Mrs. Weasley had placed his partially-completed Christmas sweater neatly folded with the "P" facing upwards, but nobody else quite seemed to know what to leave for him. A row of candles stood, unlit, behind the statue. The twins stood on either side of the statue and Fred began to speak.  
  
"We considered carefully what we wanted to say . . "  
  
". . . and how we wanted to say it . . ."  
  
". . . and we decided that it would be an insult to Percy's memory if we did anything to let this tragedy hurt us as a family, or change the way we live."  
  
Mrs. Weasley started to look at the boys suspiciously, but Mr. Weasley squeezed her shoulder, letting her know it was ok.  
  
Fred continued. "Percy was headstrong and determined. He didn't let things get in the way between him and his duty. I remember the Halloween of my third year, when the troll got into the dungeons. Percy didn't even blink twice as he led the Gryffindors back to the common room. It was his duty to keep them safe, and even though we told him he was being far too uptight about it . . ."  
  
". . . many times . . ."  
  
". . . he was doing his job, and doing it well. Everyone returned safely to the common room . . ."  
  
". . . except for Ron and company, who decided to take on the troll themselves . . ."  
  
". . . but Percy stuck to his duty. He wouldn't want us to forget ours, especially now. He wouldn't want us to let You-Know-Who win by forgetting to keep living our lives. That's our duty to each other and to ourselves. Thank you, Percy."  
  
Fred withdrew his wand and pointed it at the first candle. "Lumos Incendium." The candle burst to life.  
  
George then took up the cue. "We'd like for everyone to say something about Percy, one of the ways he made our lives better, a story about him, or a prayer for him. When you're done, light the next candle, until everyone has said something, and all the candles are lit."  
  
Mr. Weasley stepped forward, and began to speak, but Harry barely heard him. His eyes drifted over the landscape, and his mind drifted to an empty place where nothing seemed to follow him but a hollow pain. Every so often, he'd look back towards the row of candles and count the lit ones. Three, then five, then nine were lit. Harry watched as Ron walked over and lit the tenth candle. It took him a moment to notice that everyone seemed to be watching him, and he realized with a start that it was his turn to speak. He thought rapidly for a moment, then took a small step forward, but remained at the back of the circle.  
  
"Someone very wise once told me that it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live. I guess now is the time for us to face life, reality, and our responsibilities, but we can't let our dreams die either. Percy worked hard to make his dreams a reality, and we need to keep working hard so that the peace we seek will someday be more than a dream." At that point, the emotions he had held back finally rose to the surface, and his vision blurred through the moisture welling up in his eyes. He blinked a couple of times, then aimed his wand towards the 11th candle and whispered, "Lumos Incendium."  
  
"Very well said, Harry," a tired voice from behind him said. Harry snapped around to see Dumbledore standing just behind him, as though he had been there for a long time. Dumbledore continued, "To dwell on dreams, to the exclusion of all else, is a danger we must avoid. Reality is a harsh place right now, and it is tempting to seek to retreat from it. Instead, we should use our hopes and dreams as a guide, to inspire us to work for the good of others. In this way, we become inspiration for others, like a candle in the dark. Lumos Incendium." The carefully aimed spell lit the 12th candle, and in the twilight, the line of flames cast dancing shadows across the faces of all assembled.  
  
************************************************************  
  
In the twilight, the flames cast dancing shadows across Holly's face as she fought, tooth and nail, to reach what was left of her house. She knew it was futile, and she was secretly grateful that Sirius was there to hold her back. Tucked into the woods in which Holly had once played as a child, they had arrived in time to see a group of darkly robed figures Disapparate from around the far side of the house, just as the flames had begun to engulf the roof. Sirius had reacted immediately, throwing them both to the ground and out of sight, but no more Death Eaters remained. Now, he knelt beside her, staring back and forth between the house and Holly, not sure what to say, or even if there was anything he could say.  
  
Holly grabbed a handful of last autumn's leaves from the ground and wrenched them to shreds in her fists. Sirius made a move to put his hand on her shoulder, but she batted him away. She stared at the fire in total disbelief, her eyes starting to sting, and her throat becoming tight. She cried out in anguish. "No! Gods, no! How could they . . . how did they find me? The house, my father . . . I never wanted . . ."  
  
Sirius felt like a failure. He had just committed himself to helping someone he considered to be a new member of the family, and there he was, powerless to help as she lost her home and her last parent. Vicious memories of what had happened fourteen years ago played themselves through his mind, as fresh as if it had happened yesterday, and once again, he was powerless do anything.  
  
He looked down again as Holly took a sharp breath, and she spoke through choked tears. "We didn't part on good terms. I had left for a hiking trip, and he didn't want me to go. He never wanted me to go anywhere, and I hated him for that. I still didn't want this to happen. Not this, not now . . ." Her voice faded off, and she began shredding another handful of leaves.  
  
"Maybe your father wasn't home. We don't know yet."  
  
She shook her head and pointed at the driveway. "His car is here. He was home."  
  
Sirius stared at her bleakly, searching for something to say. "I'm sorry."  
  
Holly turned and glared at him, her eyes flashing furiously. She spoke in a voice between a growl and a pained cry. "Don't ever give me an apology. I don't want it, I don't need it."  
  
Sirius flinched. He shouldn't have said that. He waited another moment, then tried a new approach, "Holly, maybe we should get out of here. They could come back."  
  
Her eyes seeming to drill right to the back of his skull. "I'm not leaving, not yet. There has to be something, anything." She jumped up and began running towards the house.  
  
"Holly, there's nothing you can do! It's gone!" He caught up with her quickly with his longer legs, grabbed her by the arm and spun her around just before she reached the edge of the yard. "What are you trying to do? We'll send people tomorrow to search, but it's gone. You can't save it, you can't stop it."  
  
"I don't know what I'm trying to do. You tell me!" Somewhere through her rage and sorrow, a trace of fear cracked through the surface. "I barely knew my mum. My dad just died. The home I grew up in is in flames, and I'm leaving behind everything I've ever known. You tell me what I'm trying to do, because I don't know anymore." She collapsed to her knees on the ground and leaned against one of the trees at the edge of the yard she used to climb to escape her father. She brushed her hand back and forth through the leaves and cried silently.  
  
Sirius hunched down with his back to the house, his shape nothing more than a silhouette to Holly. "I don't know what to tell you, because I don't know what to do anymore either. I'm sorry you ever had to be part of this. You didn't deserve to have your life uprooted. Harry's life was uprooted when he was a year old, and I couldn't do a thing to help him either. I wish there was something I could do." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. This time, she didn't push him away.  
  
"Just help me to understand all of this, I guess." Her voice was thin and strained. "I'm used to being on my own, but for once, I think I need someone to talk to."  
  
Sirius nodded, then jumped up with a start. "Holly! Don't move! There's a snake!"  
  
"What? Oy! Seymore!" she exclaimed and reached down to pick up the small serpent, who immediately wrapped itself around her hand, looking quite at home.  
  
Sirius stared at Holly. He began to suspect that there was never a dull moment with this girl. "You know this snake, like a pet?" he asked in disbelief.  
  
"Well, she's more of a friend than a pet. Great company, trust me." She rubbed Seymore's head slowly, and the snake rested her head on the back of Holly's hand drowsily, flicking her tongue out periodically. "Want to pet her?" Holly held out her hand with the sleeping snake.  
  
"Uh, thanks, but no," Sirius said warily.  
  
"Ok, but I'm taking her back with me." Holly's voice became tense again. "I need something from home."  
  
Sirius nodded his understanding, although it was clear he wasn't too fond of having a snake for a houseguest. He made a move to get up, but Holly caught the corner of his sleeve. "Sirius, what day is today?"  
  
"August 1st, why?"  
  
"With everything that was happening, I just lost track of time and forgot." She stared off blankly, and Sirius could see the moisture building at the corner of her eye.  
  
"What's important about August 1st?"  
  
She broke a short sob. "Today was my birthday. Some birthday."  
  
Holly turned her face back towards the house in anguish. She could see lights from fire-trucks and police cars at the far end of the road, moving towards the house. She looked around the yard one last time, set her jaw firmly, and turned back to Sirius. "We should go now."  
  
He helped her to her feet, and they walked back into the woods where the Portkey was waiting for them.  
  
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A/N: If you've had the pleasure of reading this far, I really do appreciate reviews. It lets me know if people have been reading, and helps me to evaluate the story for re-working.  
  
I've been overwhelmed with schoolwork lately (university life, what can I say?) but I promise I have not given up on the story. Chapter 10 is in the works, and we'll find our characters at Hogwarts soon enough! If you have questions about the story, leave an e-mail address with the review, and I'll reply immediately, OR send me an instant message on AIM at pitcha126 (preferable) or on Yahoo at chelle126. I'd say to send me an owl, but I know most muggles find that difficult. ;)  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Phoenix 


	13. Whispers of the Mind

Chapter 10  
  
From under the edge of a thick quilt, a head of dark, messy hair shifted and turned over. The pile of quilts moved as the person sleeping beneath tossed restlessly. Holly had only fallen asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Despite her emotions, the toll of the past days had finally pushed her past the limits of exhaustion. Sirius, on the other hand, had not slept at all. He sat on an armchair in the corner of the room, watching anxiously as the surface of the blankets twitched and jerked repeatedly, but the person underneath didn't wake. It was just as well. Holly needed the sleep, and it gave Sirius some time to collect his thoughts. Unfortunately, his thoughts were so thoroughly scattered that it didn't seem to be doing him much good.  
  
He had chosen not to attend the meeting with Dumbledore, refusing to leave Holly's side. She had regarded him questioningly when he had said he was staying, but to his relief, she hadn't objected to the company. Sirius had decided not to push conversation, and Holly seemed content with that, speaking when she felt the need to do so, pacing and sitting alternatively when she wanted silence. She said little about her father, with whom she had spent 21 years of her life, but spoke at great length about the mother and grandmother she hardly remembered. She mused aloud over what Dumbledore had told her regarding her family history, and voiced rhetorical questions about her involvement in the whole mess. All the while, Sirius marveled all the bizarre coincidences that fit so delicately into the cracks and holes in his own godson's story.  
  
Sirius thanked the fates that she seemed to have temporarily forgotten about her desire to see Harry, although the severity of the events that inspired that mild amnesia was far too high a high price to pay. She put on a good pretense of maintaining control for most of the evening, even when her ribcage shook with unshed tears, but Sirius knew it was just a wall, just a mask. Underneath it all, the pain was wearing on the young witch. When you pull away enough of the supports, even the strongest tower can fall, unless you put in something new to hold it up. Sirius had no idea how to fill that role, but he was damned sure going to try.  
  
When sleep's call became too much for Holly to ignore, she had slumped onto the couch in front of the fire with her eyes half-closed, and Sirius had taken the initiative of guiding her to the guest bedroom. For the first time since Hagrid had taken a baby Harry from his life the night Lily and James had died, Sirius felt the strange emotions that could come only with fulfilling a father role. He kept reminding himself that his job was not to be a father to a child, but to be a friend to an adult. Still, as he pulled the edge of the quilt up to her chin, Holly being almost completely oblivious to her surroundings, he couldn't shake the paternal feelings.  
  
Sirius watched as she tried to fight off sleep, despite its obvious grip on her. When she finally drifted off, slumber brought muffled cries for her mum, as though she were still a small child. Sirius's heart almost broke at the sight, and it made him wonder what Harry was doing at that moment. Through the rest of the night, his thoughts bounced back and forth like a ping-pong ball between the Boy Who Lived, and the Girl Who was Lost. Well, she's been found now, he thought, and I'm not going to let anything happen to her. Not to her, not to Harry, not if I can help it.  
  
He didn't turn at the soft click of the bedroom doorknob, nor did he react when Remus's hand came to rest gently on his shoulder.  
  
"You've been up all night?" Remus's voice was tired, neutral.  
  
"So have you," Sirius said, with an edge of sarcasm, but he dropped it quickly, speaking in low tones. "I couldn't have slept anyway. Not tonight." He turned his face towards his friend. Remus's face was drawn with fatigue, deep circles under his eyes. Sirius wondered how closely his face matched the werewolf's. "How did the meeting go?"  
  
Sirius could sense his friend stiffen tensely. "Let's not discuss this here." He nodded towards the lump under the quilts, which had finally stopped twitching. "Come on, you could use some breakfast. Go wash up, I'll cook. We've got a lot to do today."  
  
The wizards left the room and eased the door shut behind them. The lump on the bed shifted again, imperceptibly at first, then the edge of the quilt was slowly pulled down, exposing Holly's eyes, then nose, then her tightly drawn mouth. She sat up and reached for her glasses. She had not wanted to let Sirius know she'd been awake, didn't want the awkwardness that may have accompanied that knowledge. More to the point, she also didn't want to admit how much his presence was a comfort to her at the moment. His concern for her was profound, open, and very honest.  
  
As much as she didn't like admitting weakness, right now, she felt weak. She felt like a bird that had its wings plucked, then had been thrown off a cliff before proper feathers could grow back. Sirius hadn't been able to stop her from falling, but he had managed to catch her before she had crashed at the bottom. Someday, perhaps she would let him know how much it had meant to her. With everything that had happened, it had been a long drop. Somehow, she felt it wasn't over yet.  
  
Holly felt something smooth and slightly cool move across her hand, and she smiled. Seymore had emerged from her resting place beneath the pillow. She let the snake twine around her fingers, and she stroked its smooth back gently.  
  
"Well, good morning, my little friend." The light pressure on her hand was familiar, and that tiny memory of home left her with bittersweet warmth in her chest. She could sense Seymore's contentment, and even concern. Just like any animal, she had always been able to tell, to some degree, what Seymore had been thinking. She remembered arguing with one of her professors that snakes and birds were more intelligent than most mammals. The professor had harrumphed, "Preposterous!" and she had never been able to explain to him how she knew better. Still, for all Seymore's intelligence, she could only be certain of the snake's thoughts in a vague and nebulous way. She sighed contentedly. "I suppose you slept better than I did."  
  
[Not really. You tossed and turned too much.]  
  
Holly started. She hadn't heard that in her mind, she had heard it with her ears. No, that was ludicrous. All animals think, but snakes don't talk. Her mouth opened and closed noiselessly for a moment before words finally came to her.  
  
"You didn't just, I mean, you haven't learned to talk, have you?"  
  
She knew birds were capable of human speech, and with Bram in particular, it had always just felt natural to translate the peculiar code of clacks and calls. On the other hand, snakes were physically incapable of making any intelligible sounds. They had no vocal structures. She had just begun to assume she had imagined it when Seymore swung her head back and forth.  
  
[I always could, but it seems you have only just figured it out.]  
  
"But, I'm not doing anything different," she protested, not considering how ridiculous it was that she was trying to contradict a snake. Seymore, on the other hand, ignored the comment, settling herself more comfortably around Holly's wrist. Holly stared in amazement for a moment, until Seymore raised her head slightly and winked at the witch. No! Snakes can't wink, she told herself. Not a chance. No eyelids.  
  
She swung herself out of bed, careful not to disrupt the resting snake, almost tripping over the hem of the pajama bottoms Sirius had lent her. She choked up momentarily at the reminder that all of her own things were gone, but brushed it aside. She had spent her tears last night. Mourning would do her no favours.  
  
She locked the bedroom door and found her clothes, which were now clean and neatly folded on a chair. She dressed in silence, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She grimaced and tried, in vain, to flatten her hair before shrugging in surrender. She opened the bedroom door and padded softly to the kitchen.  
  
Lupin's house was spacious and airy, with brightly cleaned wooden floors that had seen many years of foot traffic. It looked as though it could have been lavishly decorated, and perhaps it once had been, but now, the furnishings were only just better than utilitarian, and some rooms were almost empty. She decided that she preferred the simple, uncluttered furnishings. At first thought, it seemed to be the home of an honest, straightforward person, but she also had the sense that Lupin might be hiding something. Unlike Fudge, however, Lupin did not seem to have any maliciousness behind him, more a curious duality. She made her way through the downstairs towards the kitchen, letting her socks drag along the smooth wood of the hallway. Sirius and Remus were already in the kitchen, and Holly heard them before she saw them.  
  
". . . too young to have to be involved in things like this. What is Dumbledore thinking?" Sirius's voice met her ears, tinged with irritation and worry.  
  
"He's probably thinking that this is the only way. We can fight the Death Eaters, but there's only one person who can take on You-Know-Who." Lupin sounded both reluctant and very tired.  
  
"No, now there's two people, and I don't want to see either of them put into that situation!"  
  
"Sirius, it's not up to us. It's not even up to Dumbledore, or anyone, if we all really want to see an end to Voldemort. Like Dumbledore said, sometimes, understanding fate and controlling it are one in the same. Right now, we're in a position to guide these events. We really can't let this one slip."  
  
A pause, and Holly heard a glass clank lightly on the table. Lupin continued. "I'm glad Hagrid had good news. We'll need as much backup we can get. This is going to be fought on so many levels, I don't know how Dumbledore can keep track of it all. I don't know how he's going to maintain Hogwarts as a school, the way it's always been."  
  
"What about Snape?" Sirius asked, bitterness tinting his words.  
  
"Will he ever actually find it?"  
  
"We don't know yet. He's barely been able to handle the balancing act as it is."  
  
"I still don't know why Dumbledore is willing to trust him," Sirius growled. "I don't trust him."  
  
"He's got his reasons, Sirius. You trust Dumbledore, don't you?"  
  
Sirius grunted, and the conversation came to a temporary halt. Holly realized that she was actually eavesdropping. She quickly composed herself, then stuck her head around the edge of the kitchen door. "Good morning?" It was more of a question than a greeting.  
  
"Holly!" Sirius jumped up, but restrained himself quickly. "You're awake! Did you sleep enough? Here, have a seat, let me get you some breakfast."  
  
He pulled out a chair from behind a third place setting, grabbed the plate, and marched over to the kitchen stove where breakfast was still sitting in hot skillets and pots.  
  
"He's like a mother hen, isn't he?" Holly asked Remus quietly.  
  
Remus leaned over towards her and whispered out the corner of his mouth, "Cluck, cluck."  
  
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," said Sirius, looking back over his shoulder. "Holly, do you want coffee or tea?"  
  
"Orange juice?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"We've got pumpkin juice," said Sirius apologetically.  
  
Holly planted her elbow on the table and leaned her chin on her hand. "What's this strange fixation you people have with pumpkin juice? It's not bad, but what's a witch got to do to get a simple glass of orange juice around here?"  
  
Lupin took careful notice of Holly's casual reference to herself as a witch. She certainly could adjust quickly to new things, he thought. That was good. She'd need that down the road. Sirius, on the other hand, didn't notice the significance of the off-hand comment, his mind still focused on breakfast.  
  
"Well, I could try turning it into orange juice, but I don't think you'd want to drink the results. It's a wonder I ever figured out how to become an Animagus. My transfiguration skills are terrible."  
  
Remus laughed, remembering fondly some of Sirius's more entertaining failures in McGonagall's class. He wondered if they ever did manage to fix that poor chimpanzee.  
  
Holly nodded at Sirius warily. "I think I'll just take the pumpkin juice."  
  
Once breakfast was almost over, Holly having sampled her pumpkin juice somewhat cautiously, the conversation took a sudden turn. Holly put down her now empty glass and asked, "So, what did happen at the meeting last night?"  
  
Sirius and Remus exchanged glances, then Remus leaned forward on his elbows. "Well, what exactly do you want to know?"  
  
"Everything," Holly said bluntly.  
  
Remus swallowed. "I can't do that, Holly. Not yet."  
  
Holly began to look angry, but quickly conceded the point. She could sense that Remus would tell her if he felt he could, and that this was not the kind of thing for which she should go digging. She was really too tired for that kind of thing anyway. Although she knew she actually could read minds, it really wasn't her imagination, that didn't mean she had much control over it yet. "What can you tell me?"  
  
"We're working on re-establishing the Ministry, but now, this is a time of war. The structure of the Ministry will be different then it has ever been before, because this is an enemy unlike one we've ever encountered. We're not going to get support from everyone, even if they want to fight Voldemort. This is not going to be an easy battle."  
  
"This is going to involve Harry, isn't it?"  
  
Lupin caught his breath in his throat, then nodded slowly. "Yes, it will. It will likely involve you as well."  
  
"I had a feeling you were going to say that, but really, I have nothing to do with any of this. I don't know a thing about magic, and all I know of the current situation is what I've been told over the course of a couple of days. How can I possibly be of any use whatsoever?"  
  
Lupin had to bite his tongue. Dumbledore had said to avoid the topic, but to tell her what she needed to know. It had seemed like a simple enough task at the time, but now, faced with it directly, he realized that the decision of what to tell, and what to hide, was really up to him. Perhaps that's what Dumbledore had in mind the whole time. Besides, he had already opened Pandora's Box here, had be not? "Holly, can you read minds?"  
  
Holly let out a heavy breath, exasperated. "It always comes back to that, does it? Okay, okay." She sat back in her chair, but her gaze pierced Remus's eyes sharply as she spoke. "I guess I can, but not really. I'm not exactly sure what I do. I pick up things from people, I don't know how. Sometimes with people, but more often with animals, like Seymore here."  
  
Sirius's chair scraped backwards suddenly and he turned a bit pale. "Here? Where? At the table?"  
  
Holly grinned lopsidedly and pulled back the edge of her sleeve to reveal Seymore draped contentedly over her arm. "I told you she's friendly."  
  
Sirius pressed his lips together and nodded, eyeing the snake with trepidation, but Lupin had another question. Something Dumbledore had said at the meeting made this seem very unlikely to be a coincidence. "Holly, do you hear Seymore's thoughts, or does she actually talk?"  
  
Holly's expression was quizzical. "You know, funny you should ask. It used to be just thoughts, but this morning . . . no, never mind, it's silly."  
  
"What is?" Lupin asked urgently.  
  
"No, really, it's nothing." The last thing Holly wanted was to give them one more reason to believe she stood out. She hadn't slept well. The previous night had been stressful. She may well have imagined the whole thing.  
  
Lupin let it drop. Considering what Dumbledore had said at the meeting, he had expected something like this to happen, but so soon? So suddenly? And of all things, Parseltongue? There would be more time for that later. For now, there were plenty of other things to keep them all occupied. "Are you ready to do some shopping today?"  
  
Holly actually laughed. "You know, normally, I'd say I hate shopping, but I think this may just change my mind. Besides, I can't just go about in the same clothes every day, now can I?"  
  
"There's a lot more than clothes at Diagon Alley," Sirius said. "You'll be needing some of your own potions supplies, a wand, and lots of books for your studies. If I know Remus, he'll help you along by dragging you directly through everything headfirst."  
  
"Should I be scared?" she smirked.  
  
Lupin favoured her with a soft smile. "The whole point is not to be scared. First lesson: Fear is the worst force a person can encounter. Evil thrives on it. If you can conquer your fears, you've overcome the greatest challenge life can give you. When you are resolute on the inside, nothing can topple you from the outside. The courageous and the power- hungry are natural enemies for that reason. It's also the underlying reason behind the fairy-tale endings of good triumphing over evil. It has nothing to do with morality or fate, but the sheer fact that pure courage can not be destroyed." He sat back and sighed inwardly.  
  
Holly's expression was contemplative as she searched Lupin's face. Somehow, she knew her grandmother would have agreed.  
  
Lupin leaned forward and clapped his hands on the table, grinning. "Before we go any further into lessons though, we need to get your supplies, and to do that, you need a disguise!"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Now I am afraid."  
  
Lupin laughed, then said evenly, "Hold still."  
  
Holly fought the impulse to run as Lupin aimed his wand at her. He muttered something under his breath. At first, Holly didn't notice anything, but suddenly, she felt a cool, tingly sensation at the back of her neck. Her eyes widened, caught between surprise and horror as she reached up and grabbed the long, dark, wavy locks of hair cascading past her shoulders.  
  
"Oh no you don't! No way! Fix it!" she demanded.  
  
"Whoa, easy there!" Sirius said. "He'll fix it as soon as we get back. It's temporary."  
  
Holly fumed and grumbled, crossing her arms and slouching in her chair.  
  
Lupin grinned broadly. "Actually, I think it looks quite good on you. We'll have to make some other small adjustments, but the longer hair makes a huge difference."  
  
Sirius scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder how she'd look as a blonde?"  
  
Holly's face flared red with fury as she leveled her gaze at him. "You'll have a hard time looking at it through two black eyes if you ever try to find out."  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short by a sudden outburst of laughter from his two companions. "What?" he asked, bewildered, which only succeeded in making Lupin and Holly laugh harder. Suddenly, a very strange suspicion occurred to him. He slowly stood and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Remus snickering and casually twiddling his wand. Holly choked back another short laugh, then looked at Lupin, who was now quietly counting down on his fingers. She pointed at his hands.  
  
"What are you . . .?"  
  
""Shh!" Lupin cut her off. "Three . . . two . . . one . . ."  
  
"Nooooooooo! Moony!" Sirius's anguished scream echoed from the bathroom.  
  
Lupin leaned back with a very self-satisfied grin. "I guess blondes don't have more fun."  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Conversation around the breakfast table was pleasant, simple, and utterly hollow that morning at the Burrow. It was just as well, Harry thought to himself. He hadn't slept properly all night, nor had he stayed awake either, drifting instead through a series of tumultuous, shallow dreams. Maybe it was from watching a close friend loose a member of his family, but Harry found himself feeling the loss of his own parents as though the emotions were fresh and raw. He set his face as a mask. He had no right to be upset over something he couldn't actually remember, when right now, the Weasleys were pressing on with life in the face of a new loss.  
  
Harry didn't even taste the sausages as he ate. He greeted Ginny with an automatic smile as she joined the already-overcrowded table. Even though the conversation was subdued, the interconnectedness of the large family at the tiny table, elbows brushing elbows with no need for apology, created a tangible web of support in the room. Even though Harry didn't quite feel like a part of that web, he appreciated the sense of comfort around him.  
  
Hermione would be leaving later that day. Her parents had felt that the Weasleys would want privacy after such a tragic loss, although it was obvious to Harry that Ron didn't see it as an intrusion. Although he hadn't come out and said it, Harry could tell Ron needed his friends there now. In fact, Ron had probably said the least of anyone, both after the memorial, and at breakfast.  
  
Last night, the youngest of the Weasley boys had walked back to his bedroom in silence, trailed closely by Hermione, and shortly thereafter by Harry. Ron had lain back on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, not reaching out for companionship, but not pushing them away either. Harry suspected that from the outside, he must have looked much the same way after Cedric's death. Hermione had engaged Harry in a game of Wizard's Chess to pass the time until it was late enough to pretend that they were tired.  
  
Harry looked over at Ron, who was now deeply engaged in a piece of buttered toast. "Ron, pass the pepper please?" Ron handed the pepper mill to Harry without a word, so as an excuse to engage his friend's conversation, Harry asked, "Have you thought about what classes you'll be taking for fifth year?"  
  
"Well," he began in a low voice, "the basics, of course. I'm thinking about either Astronomy or Muggle Studies."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Dunno. Hermione keeps telling me I don't know nearly enough about Muggles, and I'm beginning to think she's right. Astronomy is open to fifth years, and that's actually pretty interesting stuff. I really wish there were an advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow, and Ron looked directly into Harry's eyes. Harry was taken aback by what he saw. The boyish eyes rimmed with red lashes and freckles had a dark cast to them, all traces of naivety gone. The unstoppable, unsinkable Ron had changed. He leaned towards Harry as though about to disclose his soul to his friend. "I never, never want to be in a position where I can't protect my friends and family."  
  
That was certainly a sign of the times. Harry nodded his agreement, but that didn't mean he had to like the implications of what Ron had said. In the course of a day, Ron had matured more than most people did in years. Unfortunately, the vehicle for that change had been anger, fear, and cynicism. Harry hoped that these changes hadn't buried the old Ron completely.  
  
A heavy thud at the door caused everyone to jump. "What the . . ." Ron started, gripping the edge of the table, white-knuckled, and lifted himself part way out of his seat. A blur of white feathers at the open window caused everyone to turn again. Hedwig ruffled in agitation, pointing one wing towards the kitchen door.  
  
"Errol!" Ginny squeaked as she bolted from her chair. She pulled the door open to reveal a pile of decrepit grey plumage with one foot sticking out at an odd angle. "Errol?" she asked, uncertainly, her eyes wide. The foot twitched, and from somewhere in the fluff, they heard a faint hoot. The second foot shoved its way clear of the feathers, still tightly clutching an elegantly scripted envelope.  
  
"Oh, thank goodness, Errol!" Ginny exclaimed, scooping up the tattered bird as everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. She plucked the envelope from Errol's talons as she walked, and recognized the seal immediately. "Mum, it's from Hogwarts."  
  
"Oh?" Mrs. Weasley bustled over to Ginny and tore open the letter. "It's far too soon for the supplies list."  
  
"Harry, you've got one too." Ron nudged Harry, who hadn't noticed that Hedwig had already come to the table and was waiting patiently for him to take the letter.  
  
"Oh! Thanks Ron. Sorry Hedwig," Harry blurted as he accepted the letter and tore it open. Hedwig hooted and helped herself to Harry's toast.  
  
"What's it say?" Bill asked, leaning across the table.  
  
Mrs. Weasley began to read hers aloud.  
  
"Dear Weasley Family, These are trying times in the Wizard world. There is no safety to be found in ignorance or denial, no benefit to be gained through lies. Vol . . ." Mrs. Weasley choked on the word. "Er, You-Know-Who has returned, alive and dangerous. However, there is also no purpose to be had in fear. Indeed, it is our fear that You-Know-Who desires, our fear that would increase his power. In submitting to that terror that is being unleashed, we only serve to destroy ourselves. It is in our courage and mutual strength that we must rely.  
  
"The Ministry is reorganizing at this moment, and there has been an influx of support rallying to our cause. At home, with your families, in your neighborhoods, I encourage you to support and protect each other. Carry on your life as you always have, but remain cautious.  
  
"On that note, in light of recent events, I wish to inform you of the status of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As it has for nearly 1,000 years, Hogwarts will continue to train the finest witches and wizards possible. If we cease to invest in our future through the youth of our world, then for what purpose do we fight? It may be natural to feel fear for students who are not under the direct care of their parents or guardians, but there is no safer place than Hogwarts. As always, the disciplines we teach will prepare students to be strong, safe, and successful in a turbulent and treacherous world.  
  
"Student supply lists will be sent out at the usual time.  
  
"Yours in Trust, Albus Dumbledore."  
  
Nobody spoke for a moment. Finally, Ron turned to Harry and asked slowly, "What does yours say?"  
  
"The same." Harry skimmed through the letter as he spoke. How does Dumbledore package such a traumatic event into a concise letter and manage to sound so calm? "Dumbledore must have sent them out to everyone during the meeting last night."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips. "I wonder how they could write so many letters in such a short time?"  
  
"I charmed a photocopier." A very tired Mr. Weasley appeared at the door as the old clock chimed.  
  
"Arthur, you're home. I'm glad you're back," Mrs. Weasley greeted him with a hug. "The meeting ran so late."  
  
"And it's not over yet," said Mr. Weasley. He pulled a rickety wooden stool to the table as Bill and Ginny slid apart to make room for him. It was a tight fit, but nobody cared. He sat and reached for the stack of toast. "There are still a lot of things we haven't been able to work out. Even though the letter said we're reestablishing the Ministry, it's not exactly that easy. We've contacted most of the remaining members, and will be holding an open meeting tomorrow night, but there are so many things figuring into this." He planted his elbows on the table and leaned his face into his hands, rubbing his temples. "We can't just rewrite an entire political structure." He sighed and shook his head.  
  
It could have been raw nerves and exhaustion playing on Mr. Weasley's manner, but Harry got the unshakable feeling that there was something else, something Mr. Weasley was specifically avoiding. "Uh, Mr. Weasley?" he began.  
  
Mr. Weasley's head snapped up, and just as he had done yesterday, he regarded Harry with a strange expression. "Yes Harry?"  
  
Harry swallowed. "What are you avoiding?"  
  
Hermione turned sharply towards Harry, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, but Harry didn't notice. Mr. Weasley appeared to be thinking very quickly, but finally, he sighed, steeled his face and spoke.  
  
"Not a single person who died in the Ministry fire was on our list of suspected Death Eaters. That doesn't surprise us, but it does leave us with a couple of problems. First, there's a larger percentage of them now then there used to be, particularly in powerful positions. Second, none of them is ousted from the Ministry because we say so. They hold a lot of sway, and many are well respected." Mr. Weasley scoffed, his voice edged with sarcasm, "Even Malfoy is noted for his charitable donations to places like St. Mungo's. Basically, no organization we create is legitimate without due process, or at least common consensus within the Ministry. By the time we remove their influence and create a sovereign government, who knows what they might have already done?"  
  
There was a powerful silence at the table as the potential implications of that statement began percolating. Even Hedwig and the now-coherent Errol were perched on the edge of the table in rapt attention. "This isn't going to be pretty, is it?" asked Charlie.  
  
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The good news is that we have the support of most of the giants. Hagrid and Madame Maxime were largely successful, although apparently some of the support was given grudgingly. We'll take what we can get though."  
  
Mrs. Weasley looked anxious. "And the bad news Arthur?"  
  
"Severus's mission. He's still looking, but there's no trace of. . ." He bit his lip.  
  
"No trace of what, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked. Her eyebrows were furrowed in deep thought, as though she were trying to think about too many things at once.  
  
"I can't tell you, Hermione. I shouldn't have brought it up at all. If Professor Snape is unsuccessful, it won't matter either way."  
  
Hermione nodded, but it was obvious that she wasn't too fond of his response. Mr. Weasley spread jam thickly on a slice of buttered toast and took a large bite. He mumbled through a full mouth, "Didn't realize how hungry I was. Pass the sausage please?" That put an end to the open conversation. There was an unspoken understanding that Mr. Weasley did not wish to pour over every detail of the meeting. He was too tired, too distracted. Plus, he hadn't been kidding; he was quite hungry.  
  
The clatter of dishes resumed, and the family let Mr. Weasley eat in peace. Harry still couldn't shake the feeling that a part of the story was still missing. He looked over at Hermione, who was now staring intently at the ceiling, her lip twisted thoughtfully. Whatever she was thinking about, she was sure to tell them when she figured it out. She must have noticed Harry looking at her. Her lips smiled at him, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She was now staring at him with almost the same expression as Mr. Weasley had done. She quickly turned back to her toast. Harry was starting to feel that there was something oddly familiar about that look, but he couldn't place it. He turned back to his own breakfast and realized he was no longer hungry.  
  
One by one, the Weasleys finished their breakfasts and trickled away from the table. Finally, Ron stood, followed closely by Hermione. "Harry, are you coming?" he asked.  
  
"In a moment." Harry was utterly preoccupied. Mr. Weasley had been intentionally avoiding something, he was certain of it. He was now almost positive that it had something to do with him.  
  
Hermione planted her hands on her hips. "I know you're not hungry. You've been pushing that same piece of sausage around your plate since Hedwig left with your toast."  
  
"Oh, just distracted I suppose." He reached for a new piece of toast and nibbled the corner of it. Hermione wasn't convinced. She rolled her eyes. "Ok, ok, just be along soon, right?"  
  
Harry gave his best facsimile of a reassuring smile. She returned it halfheartedly, and Harry realized she was still looking at him strangely. She turned and walked out of the kitchen. Ron shrugged and followed her.  
  
Harry let out a deep breath. She was concerned for him, no doubt about that, but he couldn't understand the strange look. It was feeling even more familiar now, but he couldn't place it. He shook it off. He had best spend some good time with Hermione and Ron before Hermione left for the summer. First, however, he had to do something else.  
  
Mr. Weasley was just placing his empty teacup back in its saucer. He looked for all the world like a man so worn out that a slap to the face couldn't have caught his attention. He shook slightly as he exhaled a long breath. After a moment, he realized that Harry was waiting for him.  
  
"All right, Harry?" His voice was tired, but oddly cautious.  
  
"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley, but something was bothering me." He hesitated. How on earth was he going to say this without being absolutely rude?  
  
"Well, go on now; I'm not going to hex you." Mr. Weasley cracked a weak laugh. "It's not as though anything could surprise me after the last two days."  
  
Harry bit at the inside of his lip. "Mr. Weasley, what else happened at that meeting?"  
  
"Well, plenty of things, Harry." Mr. Weasley's voice was noticeably elusive. "That would be why I was there all night."  
  
"Such as?" Harry prodded.  
  
Mr. Weasley sighed and folded his hands in front of him on the table. "Well, the most pressing thing is this split in the ministry. We'll know tonight how many people within the Ministry will solidly support us, but even then . . ." He grimaced. "People such as the Malfoys are extremely influential. There is enough of that group within the Ministry to practically set up their own government. We don't know how many people they will be able to influence, and not all their influence is merely political. People might be willing to believe that the old Death Eaters are out to spread terror, and that they're using the rumors from last spring as a starting point for their campaign, but the idea of You-Know-Who himself having returned is still too much for them to believe. Yes Harry, even with all the evidence staring them in the face. I'm sure Malfoy's friends are going to do everything they can to contradict You-Know-Who's return. Just as Dumbledore said, there's no safety in ignorance, and keeping the public ignorant would play directly into You-Know-Who's hands."  
  
Harry thought over Mr. Weasley's response. That still wasn't it. There was something else. Harry shook his head. "That's important, but it's not what you were trying to avoid." Harry paused and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. It didn't feel right, speaking to Mr. Weasley this way. The man was overtired, severely stressed, and emotionally drained. Still, Harry had to know. "There's something on your mind that has to do with me. I can just tell. I don't know how, but I can tell."  
  
Once again, that strange look crossed Mr. Weasley's face. Harry suddenly realized why it seemed so familiar; it was almost the same way people used to stare at his scar. The difference was that this time, Mr. Weasley was staring at his eyes. The effect was much more disconcerting. "Harry, I don't know what to tell you. I don't even know what I can tell you."  
  
Frustration began to pull at Harry. "Dumbledore finally tells me so much about my family and myself. It was almost too much to handle, but now, there are even more things being kept from me." He gritted his teeth. What could he do? Mr. Weasley had enough on his mind. He shouldn't have to deal with an emotional outburst from his son's best friend.  
  
"Harry, I'd tell you everything if I could, but some unexpected things turned up in the past few days, and Dumbledore is only doing his best to keep everyone, including you, safe."  
  
"I thought Dumbledore said there was no safety in ignorance."  
  
Mr. Weasley winced, and immediately, Harry was slammed by a wave of guilt. He hadn't meant to snap back like that. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . forget I asked." Harry made a move to excuse himself from the kitchen, but Mr. Weasley stilled him by reaching across the table and placing a hand over Harry's arm.  
  
"No Harry. It's okay, and I can understand your frustration. Things have been difficult for all of us. I think Dumbledore will be able to fill you in when school begins. In the meantime, I'm sure he has good reasons for keeping things quiet."  
  
That was something Harry could accept. Even though Dumbledore's elusive manner had been the source of some very real frustration for the young wizard, Harry trusted him explicitly. Of course there must be a good reason for keeping things hushed. Still, that didn't stop Harry from wanting to know what could be so important that Dumbledore felt a need to keep it from him. More specifically, he wanted to know what it had to do with him. He looked back over at Mr. Weasley, whose face had lost that strange expression. Instead, the older wizard's eyes held a soft kind of wistfulness and sorrow, and something else. What was Mr. Weasley thinking? Whatever secrets were hidden behind those eyes, hidden from Harry . . .  
  
Harry's heart caught in his throat. He didn't know how he knew it, if he had seen it, or heard it, but in the back of his mind, a single idea began to flash at him. For a brief instant, Harry felt as though he had been able to see right through Mr. Weasley's eyes and into his very thoughts. One question began screaming through Harry's mind. He knew he would get no answer. He wasn't supposed to know, and he wouldn't be able to pry. Mr. Weasley wouldn't tell him, couldn't tell him anything. There would be no explanation, of that he was completely certain. Still, he had to ask, had to say it.  
  
"Who's Holly?"  
  
Just beyond the garden outside the Burrow, perched in a yew tree, a very satisfied raven called out one long, resonating note. 


	14. Diagon Alley

Chapter 11  
  
"This is in London?" Holly asked, incredulously.  
  
Lupin watched in amusement as Holly took in her first view of the Leaky Cauldron. Witches and wizards sat in tight groups at tables and along the serving bar, eating, drinking, and sharing the latest gossip. Robes swished here and there, and the undercurrent of conversation permeated the shadows. The tangy scents of ales and lagers mingled with rich aromas of roasting meats and simmering stews. It was a warm, welcoming little tavern, but there was a distinct wariness to the atmosphere that Lupin had not felt there for fifteen years. Since last spring, that uneasiness had been building, but after the disaster at the Ministry, there was a much more definite edge to things, and an uncertainty.  
  
Still, life did carry on, and now, a young witch was gaining one of her first major exposures to that life. Although she must be feeling quite awkward, visually, Lupin was pleased to see, Holly fit right in. As much as she claimed to detest it, she was quite handy with long hair when she meant to be. The top portion was up in a loose knot, while the rest flowed in waves over her shoulders. Her glasses now had shiny silver, diamond shaped rims, just small enough not to be gaudy. Lupin had unearthed a set of women's robes that had once belonged to his mother. He had shrunken them well enough to suffice for the day, and with Holly's blue cloak, the effect was more than adequate. With the touch of makeup that Lupin had convinced her to wear, she looked like any other witch you'd find out for a day of shopping at Diagon Alley. Only the most careful eye could possibly have discerned her resemblance to Harry Potter.  
  
She spun around wide-eyed, but with the presence of mind to keep her voice down. "How can this be in London? I thought you were trying to stay hidden from Muggles. Something like this can't possibly stay hidden for long."  
  
Lupin smiled knowingly. "Holly, this has been in London since the city came into being. The Muggles haven't found it yet. They can't."  
  
Holly actually looked impressed. "You can do that with magic? I really do have a lot to learn."  
  
Lupin nodded amiably, but a whuff-whuff laugh caused Holly to look down. Snuffles was sitting by her foot, grinning widely, tongue lolling out.  
  
"Think it's funny that I'm so far behind?" Holly smirked at him. "Perhaps the first thing I'll learn is how to transfigure you into a golden retriever." The dog's tongue snapped back into its mouth, and he tried to growl, but only succeeded in a choked whimper. "That's more like it," she said with a grin.  
  
"I think I see a patch of yellow fur, Snuffles," Lupin taunted. "Maybe you'd look good like that."  
  
Obviously, Sirius had not forgiven Lupin for the blonde hair incident. He turned on his tail and strutted through the tavern towards the back alley. Lupin indicated for Holly to follow, and nobody paid them any mind as they left the room.  
  
The trio emerged into a small alleyway behind the tavern, which contained little more than a few dustbins and some stray cobwebs. Holly wrinkled her nose, looking out the corner of her eye at Lupin. "Diagon Alley?" she said, skeptically.  
  
"Not exactly," he chuckled. He pulled his wand from a pocket in his robe and carefully counted the bricks above the dustbins. "Hmm . . . three up, two across, that's it." He tapped the prescribed brick with his wand.  
  
Almost instantly, the wall seemed to shiver. In the middle of that brick, a small hole formed. The hole expanded quickly outwards, stretching the solid brick wall into an arch easily large enough for all three of them to pass through at once. Holly blinked a couple of times, staring through the archway into a busy street full of bustling people, shining store fronts, fascinating sights, and a complex mixture of curious smells. She took a tiny step forward and breathed, "Wicked . . ."  
  
Lupin clapped her on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. "Welcome to Diagon Alley." He motioned her through the archway. She stopped short a few feet in and turned around in place. She watched in amazement as the archway sealed itself before her eyes, and shook her head with a lopsided grin. "Good show!" She turned back around and surveyed the scene before her. "Now, where to?"  
  
"To Gringotts, the bank," Lupin said as he began leading her through the crowded street. "Dumbledore set up a small account for you to get things started. A few people who know about you sent a little bit of money each to help you with supplies."  
  
"On no!" she moaned. "Don't tell me I've become a charity case. You've got to tell me who sent the money. I'm going to have to pay them back."  
  
"And not a one of them would accept it." He laughed at her. "Looks like you'll just have to deal with someone being nice to you. That's not such a terrible thing, is it?"  
  
"It's absolutely wonderful." Her voice dripped sarcasm. She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the sights of Diagon Alley, marveling over the shop displays. "Cauldrons . . . Apothecary . . . what one earth? Owls? Why do they need so many owls?"  
  
"Ah! Mail delivery," Lupin explained as though it were obvious.  
  
"Mail? Oh never mind. Tell me later . . . hey! Whoa, Siri . . . er, Snuffles, what do you want?" The animagus had grabbed the corner of her robe and was tugging her towards a store front. "Okay, okay! Hello, what's this? Broomsticks? Racing brooms? You're kidding me!" She looked over her shoulder, grinning broadly. "Remus, they really fly?"  
  
"Now, you don't think Muggles are creative enough to come up with a legend as ridiculous as flying broomsticks unless they had a little bit of help, do you?"  
  
Holly nodded her understanding, then turned back to the window, having to restrain herself from pressing her face to the glass. "I have got to get me one of these."  
  
Lupin laughed. "Brooms later, bank first." He directed her towards the brilliant white building at the end of the road which dwarfed every shop on the street. For all its elegance, the bank was constructed with odd angles, as though it had been built using magic, as well as marble and mortar. It was a captivating sight, but Holly kept glimpsing back over her shoulder and staring at the brooms as she walked away.  
  
"Thanks Snuffles," Lupin said, exasperated. "You've got her all distracted. Trying to turn her into a Quidditch player already?"  
  
Holly's grin widened, if that was possible. "Quidditch?"  
  
Lupin shook his head in defeat as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Brooms later, bank first," he repeated, but Holly could tell he was trying not to laugh.  
  
Their shoes clacked loudly on the smooth marble floor, but the sound was lost in the cacophony of metallic clicks, gruff voices, and jangling coins. "These are, er, rather unorthodox bank tellers, aren't they?" Holly asked warily.  
  
"They're goblins, Holly. They run the Gringotts banks worldwide. Nothing they like more than numbers, figures, and stockpiling gold."  
  
"Hmmm. They're shorter than me, and almost as funny-looking."  
  
Lupin blew out a deep breath as he approached one of the goblins behind the counter. He pulled out a piece of parchment with elegant script and an ornate seal. "Hello, I would like to activate this woman's account for her. It's the vault that Dumbledore set up last night."  
  
The goblin peered at Holly as he took the letter with his long, craggily fingers. He nodded as he read, then snapped the letter down on the countertop. "Yes, very well. Tripwire! Key to vault 934." Seconds later, the goblin Tripwire arrived and placed a small, intricate gold key on in front of Holly. "Tripwire, take them to . . ."  
  
"Wait!" Holly exclaimed. "I've seen those before. I have one."  
  
Lupin stared at her. "How can you possibly have a Gringotts key?"  
  
"My mum left it to me, with this cloak and a few other things." She reached into one of the pockets hidden within the folds of the cloak and withdrew a key almost identical to the one on the counter. Lupin shook his head in amazement. "You are full of surprises."  
  
The goblin tapped the countertop impatiently. "Let me see the key." He took it and turned it over. "Vault 621. Tripwire, bring them there first." Tripwire nodded, but the first goblin leaned over the countertop and twisted up his mouth. "The dog cannot go to the vaults. He will have to wait outside," he said distastefully.  
  
Snuffles was immediately off his haunches and in-between Holly and the goblin, fur bristling, a low growl beginning in his throat. "Snuffles!" Holly cried in surprise.  
  
"Easy there, killer," Lupin said, giving Snuffles a friendly but firm thump on the shoulder. "Nothing is going to happen. We'll meet you on the front steps."  
  
Snuffles held his ground for another moment before the look on Lupin's face finally caused him to back down. He sulked to the entrance, tail noticeably between his legs, whimpering.  
  
"I almost feel bad for him," Holly mused.  
  
"Don't." Lupin watched his friend go. "He's gotten away with more things than you can imagine because of that act." He turned back to Holly and Tripwire, the latter of whom was becoming quite impatient. Lupin sighed. "Personally, I'd almost like to trade places with Snuffles out there. I hate the rail cars. Merlin's beard, I hate the rail cars . . ."  
  
". . . I hate the rail cars." Lupin had turned decidedly green by the time he stumbled over the edge of the car in front of vault 621. Holly bounced out behind him. "Wicked! That was great. Let's go back and do it again!"  
  
Lupin just moaned. Holly only had time to briefly wonder how terribly far beneath the surface of Diagon Alley they had traveled when she was interrupted by a lantern being shoved into her hands. "Hold the lantern, please," Tripwire said flatly. He trundled to the door of the vault. The click of the key echoed eerily in the endless tunnels and caves, followed by the slow creak of the vault door. Holly's eyes widened as a golden glow seemed to illuminate that small corner of the Gringotts caverns. "I don't think we need to go to the next vault," she whispered.  
  
Lupin sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin. I hate the rail cars."  
  
They finally emerged from Gringotts to find Snuffles pacing frantically on the front step. He saw them and ran to Holly nearly bowling her over. "Whoa there!" she yelped, dodging the oncoming wall of fur. "You're so busy trying to protect me, I think you're going to smother me."  
  
Snuffles backed down on his haunches, now looking very sheepish. He looked up at Lupin, who was still somewhat green, and began snickering at the nauseated wizard.  
  
"I'd cut that out if I were you," Lupin said. "At least I've never been thrown out of a place because I might shed on the floor."  
  
Snuffles snorted an indignant "whuff" and took off down the street.  
  
"You guys are really awful to each other," Holly admonished sternly to Lupin as they followed the large black dog through the crowd.  
  
"Ah, you have no idea. We've been best friends since we were in school. We played pranks on other people, when we couldn't do that, we'd play pranks on each other, whether or not the other was up for it."  
  
Holly smirked at him. "I'd expect you two were a couple of hellions."  
  
Lupin laughed. "We were infamous; the Marauders. The bunch of us probably pulled some of the greatest stunts of all time."  
  
"The bunch of you?" Holly raised an eyebrow. "Who else?"  
  
Lupin's face fell slightly. "Peter Pettigrew, who at the time, seemed harmless enough, and your uncle, James Potter."  
  
Holly thought quietly for a moment as they walked. "What became of Pettigrew?"  
  
Lupin grimaced at the thought. Holly always seemed to find the topics that were best avoided, but she might as well know. "He turned out to be the traitor who led Voldemort to Harry's parents. He blew up a street full of Muggles and framed Sirius for all of it."  
  
Holly barely noticed as she bumped into passing witches and wizards. She was completely focused on Lupin's words and on the heat starting to rise in her blood. "They didn't catch him, did they?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, Holly. We almost did, but he escaped just last year and went back to Voldemort."  
  
The simmering in Holly's veins reached a full boil. "He's the one Dumbledore was talking about. He's the one who helped Voldemort get his body back, and he used Harry."  
  
Lupin nodded gravely. "You're quite sharp."  
  
Holly stopped short in front of the store entrance. "He was a traitor to my family. Anybody who does that to a friend deserves to be torn limb from limb. So help me, if I ever come within arms reach of that bloody, rotten . . ."  
  
"Holly, there's nothing you can do about him. Likelihood is, if you ever get that close, it will be too late."  
  
She looked over the rims of her glasses. "You'll find I'm full of surprises." She turned and pushed through the door of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Lupin was at a total loss for words. He shrugged helplessly at Snuffles, who seemed to wholeheartedly approve of Holly's tirade, wagging his tail furiously. Lupin's eyes narrowed. "Oh no you don't. Don't you dare encourage her. If she's anything like Harry, and we know she is, she'll want to go after him, and she's too old for us to stop her."  
  
Snuffles's tail immediately stopped wagging. They quietly followed Holly into the shop. She was already examining the many rows of robes, shelves of shirts, and stacks of slacks. Aside from the three of them, the shop was empty, as the school rush was still several weeks away. Madam Malkin came bustling out from the storage room. "Good day, good day, miss. What may I help you with?"  
  
"Uh . . ." Holly stuttered, looking to Lupin, who simply motioned for her to go ahead. "I pretty much need a full wardrobe."  
  
Madam Malkin's eyes lit up at the prospect of a huge sale. "Ah! Sudden growth spurt? Decided to change your image?" She reached for the measuring tape.  
  
"Actually," Holly said evenly, "I lost all my clothes in a fire."  
  
Madam Malkin appeared aghast. "Oh! My dear! I'm so sorry!" she fussed over Holly, although she didn't exactly seem genuinely sympathetic.  
  
Holly shrugged, not wanting to deal with the hollow pity. "That's the way it goes sometimes. Let's get started, shall we?"  
  
Lupin smiled his approval, but Madam Malkin nodded uncertainly. "Er, yes, let's. Here, you'll be needing a few of the basics no matter what." She began reaching around for other seamstress supplies. "Go on to the dressing room, and I'll be there in a moment to get your measurements and start fitting you with some standard shirts, blouses, and robes." She looked down her nose at the shaggy canine at Holly's feet. "I'm also terribly sorry, but I can not allow dogs in the shop. He'll shed on everything, and you can imagine how hard it would be to clean fur off everything."  
  
Lupin covered his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his amusement, but it didn't work. Snuffles sat bolt upright and the fur on his neck bristled. Before anyone could say anything else, he spun around with a short bark and trotted to the door, tail in the air. He turned the door handle with a paw, and as he disappeared through the opening, he scuffed his hind feet huffily backwards at Madam Malkin.  
  
Madam Malkin raised her chin and continued to look down her nose. "Intersting dog you've got there."  
  
"We're pretty fond of him," Holly winked at Lupin.  
  
"Right, yes," Madam Malkin sniffed, but immediately resumed her professional manner." Now, off to the dressing room with you. Hang your cloak and robes on the hooks provided, and I will be in shortly." She herded Holly to the dressing room door. Lupin called out after her, "Don't worry, Holly. I'll help her pick out some lovely selections."  
  
"Now I am scared!" she said shot back as Madam Malkin shut the door behind her. Holly shook her head and smiled to herself as she began unfastening her cloak. She twirled the rich blue material away from her shoulders and hung it on the hook next to the mirror. She fussed with the buttons of the robe for a moment before freeing her neck from the high collar. She shed the robe completely, leaving her wearing a sleeveless tunic and under-skirt for the fitting. She rubbed her neck with her left hand as she reached out and hung the robe on the second hook. She was just dropping her arm when she caught her reflection in the mirror.  
  
My god, I look like I did when I was seventeen, she mused with some disgust. I look like a girl. Grimacing at her own image, she walked unceremoniously to the mirror and appraised herself. With a flip of her wrist, the remaining strands of her hair were tucked up around the bun at the back of her head, effectively hiding the long hair. A few loose strands dangled back into her face, which she blew away from her mouth irritably. She pulled the glasses off her face and tucked them over the edge of her tunic. She thanked the powers that be that this façade was only temporary.  
  
With her glasses removed, she squinted closely back at her unadorned face. The outline of her cheekbone, the loose clumps of hair falling past her eyebrows were tugging at her memory. The image of her cousin came walking out of her dream and, in her mind, overlaid itself on the real image behind the mirror.  
  
The dream had been too real, and now, knowing who it had been in the dream only made it grab at her more. For some reason, she had felt as though that other face hadn't been merely a figment of her sleeping imagination, but had actually seen her, had stared right back into her own eyes. As though guided by an unseen force, she reached out her hand to touch the reflection's hand, even though this time, it was her own . . .  
  
The door to the dressing room swung open with a thud and Madam Malkin announced her presence boisterously. "Okay, my dear. We have several lovely selections from some of the latest designers, in a wide range of styles. We just need to . . . dear, are you quite alright?"  
  
Holly resembled a deer caught in a car's headlights. She had frozen facing Madam Malkin, with her hands clenched protectively across her chest, feeling insanely as though someone had just intruded on a very private moment. It only took her a second to catch herself, quickly straightening her tunic and slip. "Perfectly okay, you just startled me, that's all." She settled her glasses back on her face and casually rearranged her hair as she talked. "Oh my, those look lovely. Can we try this one first?" she asked, pointed at a deep indigo robe with simple lines and no lace.  
  
The prospect of commencing with the fitting was more than enough to distract Madam Malkin, and she set herself into a flurry of measuring tape, pins, and fabric. All the while, Holly kept looking back at the mirror, letting her mind drift over the many, many questions she still had.  
  
After endless measurements and countless combinations of clothes, Holly finally emerged from the fitting room carrying several overstuffed bags and wearing her favourite selection of the pile. A rich purple tunic and the deepest midnight blue pants were topped by a robe of faintly iridescent indigo. The robe was edged with an emerald green trim. No lace, no frills, and no high collar, it was no wonder the prissy Madam Malkin was not terribly pleased with her choice. "The colours are too dark for you! The cut is too effeminate for your features."  
  
Then it's absolutely perfect, Holly thought to herself. Judging by the approving nod, Lupin thought the same thing. He was waiting for her by the service counter when she got there. "Very nice," he smiled. "It's definitely you. I took the liberty of picking up a couple of the books you'll need from Flourish and Blott's. It might give us some more time down at the Quidditch supply shop." He winked.  
  
"Wonderful! Where are the books?" she asked lightly as she pulled out her money purse. Lupin pointed at his pocket. Holly began to appear confused, but before Lupin could explain, she held up one finger. "Wait, shrinking charm, right?"  
  
"You're catching on." Lupin couldn't completely hide the pride in his voice.  
  
Snuffles was waiting for them outside the shop. He didn't jump at Holly this time. In fact, he seemed rather . . . pleased with himself. It only took them a second to see why. It was easy to make out several sets of claw marks on the paneling below the shop window.  
  
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Holly scorned. Snuffles winked and barked softly. Holly laughed. "She is rather stuffy, isn't she?"  
  
Lupin cleared his throat, glaring at Sirius. The animagus tilted his head sideways, lifted one ear, and barked again; the picture of innocence. "Snuffles . . ." Lupin warned.  
  
Snuffles stretched lazily, stood, and turned to leave. Suddenly, he stopped short, braced himself on his front paws, and scuffed several large paws full of dirt back at the scratched paneling. Before Lupin could say anything, the black dog had raced off down the street. Lupin tried to look angry, but that only lasted for a moment. He shrugged and motioned towards the café in the direction Snuffles had run. "Would you like to get an ice cream before we get your wand?"  
  
"I never say no to an ice cream." Holly began walking after Snuffles. "Maybe we'll ask for a doggie dish."  
  
Even the ice cream in the wizard world must be better Holly decided firmly as she and Lupin made their way back down the street. Lupin had recommended the mint chocolate chip, but Holly was quite pleased with her selection of chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts. Snuffles had stoutly refused the doggie dish idea, but had then resorted to begging glances at Holly's cone. As the passed by Eeylops Owl Emporium, she gave in to Snuffles's begging so that she could look at the owls more closely.  
  
"Now, you said that these were for mail?" she asked as she stroked the breast of a particularly handsome Great Grey.  
  
Lupin nodded. "Owls are the best mail carriers you could ever want. They can find anyone."  
  
"How do they do that? I mean, birds are exceptional navigators, migration and finding prey in the dark and all, but mail? Owls aren't homing pigeons." She moved along the line of perches as she talked.  
  
"Well," Lupin said in a measured tone, "how do birds navigate at night?"  
  
"They can read star patterns around the North Star. We know that much, but we aren't sure how they navigate on cloudy nights, or other times. Still, yes, the stars."  
  
Lupin smiled. "So, even the simplest birds are rudimentary astrologers."  
  
Holly opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly as her eyes widened. "It's magic!"  
  
"Ten points to Gryffindor. And it's just a touch of magic. Birds can sense and read magic like a map or a set of directions, but few species can use or create magic themselves."  
  
Holly looked unconvinced. "So, they can read magic, and they can also read mailing addresses?"  
  
"Ah, that's the secret." Lupin's voice became conspiratorial. "Written words are powerful magic. Names especially, but all written words. They can hold bonds to the things they describe, or power over them. Owls are great at reading that magic." He stroked a short-eared owl, which hooted appreciatively. "Plus, they make fairly good companions. Do you think you would want one?"  
  
"Well . . ." she thought for a moment but before she could consider the matter thoroughly, a large ruff of black feathers landed heavily on her shoulder. "Bram! My god, where have you been?"  
  
The bird clacked noisily at Holly for a moment, the tones definitely shot through with tinges of jealousy, as Lupin looked on. The raven cuffed Holly lightly upside the head with her wing as she squawked. "Okay, okay! I won't get an owl! I didn't know you did mail deliveries. You never brought me anything before."  
  
Bram clacked once more, this time apologetic. Holly laughed and started to speak again when Lupin interrupted. "Wait a minute, you have a pet raven, and you can talk to it? And you're asking me if birds are magic?"  
  
Bram screeched a sharp, indignant note at Lupin and ruffled her feathers. Holly choked a short laugh, then said apologetically, "She, er, told you to watch who you call a pet when your best friend is a sheepdog."  
  
Lupin allowed himself to be amazed for a brief moment before practicality took over. "How long have you known Bram?"  
  
"Oh, as long as I can remember." Holly let her eyes become unfocused as she thought back. "I think my grandmother knew Bram from a long time before I was born, or at least, that's the impression that I get."  
  
Lupin scratched his chin. "Strange. How old is Bram?"  
  
"I don't . . ." Holly was interrupted by a sudden outburst of screeching owls and the yells of the shop owner. A loud bark confirmed her suspicions mere seconds before a large black dog raced out of the shop between Remus and her, and then disappeared into the crowd.  
  
"And stay out, you bloody animal!" the shop owner bellowed as he emerged through a cloud of feathers. He faced Lupin, fuming. "That animal just spooked all my newest fledglings! It'll be hours before they quiet down. Say, that's not your dog, is it?"  
  
"Never seen him before in my life, sir," Lupin said simply. "Terribly sorry about your fledglings." Lupin inclined his head politely and quickly led Holly down the street. When they were out of earshot of the owner, Holly turned on Lupin. "You just lied to that man! Your friend just caused a load of trouble, and you covered for him. You slipped out of the uproar and walked away leaving that man to handle the mess Snuffles left behind. What kind of example do you intend to set?"  
  
Lupin stared at Holly open-mouthed. The last thing he had expected was a lecture from her. "I guess it's the Marauder in me."  
  
Holly dropped her stern expression. "I'm impressed." She winked at him, then scanned the street. "Now, where did Snuffles go?"  
  
"My guess is to Ollivander's. Time to get your wand, Holly. Come on."  
  
The crowd thinned somewhat as they came to the front of the shop. "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. That's quite a long time." Holly commented on the sign hanging over the shop front. "Except that it's in good repair, the place looks ancient."   
  
Lupin inclined his head towards the wand shop. "It's been there as long as I can remember. I don't think this exact store has been here that long, but it feels as though it has been. Sometimes, I wonder if this is the original Ollivander." He winked at Holly. She hit him lightly on the arm. "That's an awful thing to say! I'm sure he's a nice old man. He can't look that old."  
  
"It's not the appearance that makes me wonder. Ollivander is . . . an interesting man." Lupin pulled open the door. "After you."  
  
Holly took a deep breath, as though anticipating something just beyond her expectations and comprehension, and stepped into Ollivander's wand shop. The door settled softly back into its frame just behind Snuffles's tail, and the noise from the street disappeared. Bram hopped off Holly's shoulder and flapped quietly to perch on the edge of a shelf, tucked out of the way, but watching the whole scene as though thoroughly amused. Dust motes floated through the air, visible in the amber light that trickled through the window. Holly stepped tentatively, feeling as though she shouldn't make any noise. The very air had a funny feel to it. From between two rows of tall shelves, she heard a slight scraping sound. She looked back over her shoulder at Lupin, looking for a hint of what to do next.  
  
"Go on," he whispered.  
  
Holly nodded. "Uh, hello? Is anybody here?"  
  
"Good afternoon." The voice had seemingly come out of nowhere, causing Holly to jump as she spun around. Mr. Ollivander had emerged from between two rows of shelves, carrying a few long thin boxes in the crook of one arm. He had an appearance that would have looked disheveled and unkempt on most anyone else, with grey, frazzled hair standing in every direction and a deeply lined face, but also strange, pale eyes. He greeted them with a polite smile, but the expression didn't exactly comfort Holly. His eyes bothered her.  
  
"Well, well." He appraised her, and for once, she cringed under the scrutiny. "This is unusual."  
  
"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Lupin greeted the bizarre wizard.  
  
"Ah! Young Remus. Pleasure to see you again. Hickory and dragon heartstring, 10 ¼ inches, resilient and sturdy. Excellent wand for transfiguration and shielding spells, if I remember correctly, and I always do." He peered down at Snuffles and laughed to himself. "And Sirius, I should have known you would be here too. Dogwood and phoenix feather, 12 ¾ inches, rather snappy."  
  
Snuffles raised one ear and widened his eyes in surprise, but barked a polite greeting. By then, Holly was trying to figure out if she was more confused or worried. "What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to interject some confidence into the question. Mr. Ollivander's strange eyes met hers, and she flinched.  
  
"Their wands, of course," he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, and every person to whom I have sold a wand. You, I must say, are something of an enigma, but no bother. You need a wand, do you not?"  
  
Holly nodded dumbly. There was definitely something strange about this man. He was still examining her carefully, she could tell, but what was he looking for?  
  
"I'm not so certain I recognize you," he mumbled, more to himself than to her.  
  
"Oh, sorry," she stammered. "I'm Holly. Holly . . ." She meant to cut herself off, remembering that she was supposed to be in disguise, but Mr. Ollivander beat her to the punch.  
  
"Potter," he said firmly. "I should have seen it sooner. Yes, very curious. I wonder."  
  
She stared at him, watching his eyes, as he mused to himself for a moment. How did he know? What was he thinking about? She had no idea, absolutely no idea . . . that was just it. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking, or feeling. It was as though she couldn't sense anything behind those eyes. She suppressed a shudder, swallowed, and asked, "Wonder what, Mr. Ollivander?"  
  
He shook his head, suddenly seeming much more light-hearted. "No, never you mind that. Now, which is your wand hand?"  
  
"I'm right-handed, if that's what you mean." Holly was barely able to contain the fact that she was utterly confused now. Mr. Ollivander just nodded and reached behind the service desk, extracting a measuring tape. Snuffles was wagging his tail merrily. "Whuff."  
  
"Why do you look so happy? Enjoying the fact that I haven't a clue what's going on, or just pleased that you haven't been kicked out of the shop yet?" she teased Snuffles as Mr. Ollivander began measuring her hand, then her arm, her wrist, and her forearm. The animagus pawed the ground twice and barked. Holly laughed. "I'll take that to mean both."  
  
Lupin clapped her lightly on her left shoulder to get her attention. "You have fun getting your wand. I'm going to go down to the Apothecary and pick up a few things. Sirius will stay here with you." He lowered his voice. "Besides, it seems to be the only place in town where he hasn't gotten the boot."  
  
Snuffles let out a resentful bark, but Lupin only grinned and turned for the door, waving a quick goodbye to Holly and Mr. Ollivander, and scratching Snuffles on the head as he walked past. The dog appeared to enjoy it momentarily, then caught himself, barking at the insult of the gesture as Lupin opened the shop door. Lupin laughed aloud. "He hates it when I catch him with that." The door swung shut behind him. Snuffles spun in place, then lay down in resignation to watch the process of finding the right wand.  
  
Holly took her attention away from the door and turned to watch Mr. Ollivander as he continued to measure her, but jumped in shock when she realized that Mr. Ollivander was no longer doing the measuring. The measuring tape itself had taken over the job, and had measured her shoulders, her waist, her head, her neck, and was now measuring the width of her foot. It jumped up to measure the length of her earlobe when Holly decided she'd had enough. She grabbed the end of the tape measure as though wringing a person by the neck. "I'd stop that right now if I were you," she hissed at the piece of ribbon.  
  
The tape measure tugged at her hand, trying to free itself. She dropped it, and it shot away between the shelves towards the back of the store. A voice returned along the path the tape measure had taken. "Traumatizing my measuring tape, are you?" Mr. Ollivander emerged from the back of the shop carrying a large armload of boxes.  
  
"I didn't mean, well, I'm sorry," she apologized, turning red in the face. "So, how does this all work? How do you choose the right wand?" she asked, indicating the stack of boxes Mr. Ollivander had placed on the shelf.  
  
"Ah, Miss Potter. The wand chooses the wizard, of course. Let us see here. Aha, alder and phoenix feather, 10 inches. Here." He placed the wand in her hand, but almost immediately snatched it away. "No, no. That won't do. Perhaps this. Hazel and unicorn hair, 13 ½ inches." Once again, the wand was pulled swiftly from her hand.  
  
"Mr. Ollivander, what are you looking for?" she asked.  
  
He grinned almost gleefully. "The right wand, of course," he replied, completely engrossed in his task. "Let's see. Blackthorn and phoenix feather, 11 ¼ inches. No, not at all."  
  
Slowly, the pile of wands on the service counter grew to a small mountain, but Mr. Ollivander didn't seem to mind whatsoever. If anything, he grew more excited with each mismatched wand, speaking softly to himself the whole time. "Hmmm, how fascinating. Walnut and dragon heartstring? Apparently not. All right then, perhaps this . . . no. Curious. You certainly are a mystery. No bother, let's see now."  
  
The search wore on, and soon, although still enthusiastic, Ollivander began to slow down. Finally, he paused altogether and leaned on the counter, staring once again at Holly. She began to feel guilty, as though she were to blame that he had not yet found a wand for her. "Is it my fault? Am I doing something wrong? Maybe I'm just not meant to have a wand."  
  
He shook his head emphatically. "No, Holly. Every witch and wizard is meant for a wand. There just has to be something I'm missing."  
  
An eerie note floated through the room, and Bram landed inelegantly on the service counter next to the stack of wands. Holly laughed at the bird. "Oh, so I suppose you can do better than Mr. Ollivander?"  
  
Bram clacked affirmatively, but before Holly could challenge her, Mr. Ollivander interrupted. "Bram? That's you, isn't it?" The raven stepped one foot backwards and executed a proper bow. "Merlin's beard, what a surprise this is. It's been a very long time, yes, a very long time. It's good to see you again."  
  
"Wait just a minute!" Holly cried. "How can you know Bram?"  
  
"Ah, well you see, this was quite a time ago, but Bram . . . oh my." He tipped his head respectfully to the bird, then looked at Holly strangely. "I believe I may know what Bram is telling us. Just a moment!" He hurried towards the back of his shop. Amongst the shelves, Holly could hear the shuffle of boxes and watched as a cloud of dust began to billow over the corner of the room. Mr. Ollivander began muttering to himself. "It has to be here. It's been here since . . . what on earth is going on? Beech and raven feather, 12 ½ inches. I never sold it, it must be here! I remember every wand I've ever sold." The shuffling of boxes became louder and faster.  
  
Snuffles sat up and looked around the corner of service counter. Holly fidgeted uncertainly. "Mr. Ollivander? What are you looking for?"  
  
"One moment!" he hollered back over the noise of the boxes. "I simply can't understand this." With one final thud and a puff of dust, Mr. Ollivander emerged from between the shelves, covered in dust, scratching his head in confusion. "I have never misplaced a wand in my life."  
  
"What wand was that, if I may ask? And why is it so important?"  
  
Ollivander sat heavily on one of the stools behind the counter, and indicated for Holly to sit across from him. "Every wand has a core of a magical substance. That core, combined with the magical traits of the wood used to construct the wand, are what give the wand its character. That character is what determines the person the wand will choose. Rarely, strange coincidences are involved in that selection. Harry had such a wand, but that coincidence was due to the owner of the one wand that shared a core from the same source. You, on the other hand, happen to walk in with a raven that once gave a feather here which was made into a somewhat unique wand. That wand sat in my shop for quite some time, yes, quite a long time. I had guessed that perhaps that might be the wand destined for you, but the wand is gone."  
  
He stroked his chin and stared at the pile of wands. Suddenly, his expression changed, and his pale eyes narrowed. It appeared that he was thinking furiously, but Holly couldn't sense it. In most people, she could see thoughts welling up behind their eyes like the crashing surf. Ollivander's eyes were a concrete wall, holding back that sea of thought, and blocking it from Holly's view. "That is very strange. Yes, very strange indeed." He looked back up at her. "Still, you need a wand."  
  
Bram hopped twice and clacked furiously, swinging her bill back and forth. Holly narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher the bird's sudden outburst. "What? Feather? Feather! Why didn't I see it before?" She dug her hand deep into the pocket of her mother's cloak and withdrew a single black feather, graced by glints of iridescent purple. "My mother left this for me, along with some of her other personal belongings. I suppose I figured it was Bram's." She held it out uncertainly. "I, er, did some magic with it. Maybe this is supposed to be my wand."  
  
Ollivander looked at the feather, then past it directly at Holly's eyes, but this time, she forced herself not to flinch. "Your mother left this for you." It was not a question, nor a simple repetition of her words. "You have a very unique mother, it would seem. It also would seem that you have inherited those unique traits. Unless I miss my guess, the witches of your bloodline are quite powerful. Yes, quite powerful." He reached out and took the feather from Holly's outstretched hand and examined it carefully. "I can make you a proper wand out of this. The core chooses the wood as much as the finished wand chooses the wizard. This wand will construct itself for you."  
  
He put the feather down next to the pile of wands, not removing his eyes from Holly's. He leaned over so that his face seemed uncomfortably close to hers. "The qualities common to your family history have brought you to a unique position, as they have done to Harry. I can give you this advice. The power that is bound to your family has, in the past, done great things. Good things and terrible things alike, but great. The potential is still there for either. A wand tells many things about the person who wields it." He sat back. "Your wand will be ready in about a week. I will send notice when it is complete. Good luck, Miss Potter."  
  
Holly left Ollivander's still feeling slightly confused and extremely unsettled. She didn't know where to begin as she tried to make sense of everything that had transpired. Snuffles padded along next to her as she wandered back into the chaotic tide of the crowd in Diagon Alley. He tugged the corner of her robes, and began leading her in the direction of the Apothecary. Holly let him lead. As fantastic as Diagon Alley was, the events in Ollivander's wand shop had ruined her appetite for the setting. She needed to sit quietly and make sense out of all this mess, if such a thing were possible.  
  
What were the terrible things that could possibly have been attributed to traits of her family? If Ollivander remembered every wand he ever sold, then why was this particular wand missing if he insisted he had never sold it? How did he know Bram? Lupin might have answers. He seemed to know a lot, and he had been a professor. Perhaps she would get a chance to ask Dumbledore. Yes, that was it. Dumbledore seemed to know everything, and this was the perfect thing to bring to him at the first opportunity. Holly was still wrapped in her thoughts when she saw the sign for the apothecary down at the far end Diagon Alley, in a less crowded section of the street. As the crowded thinned to almost nothing, she finally saw Lupin standing in front of the Apothecary, engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with an elaborately dressed man.  
  
"Hey, Re . . ." she began to call out, but Snuffles had grabbed the edge of her cloak and had pulled her sharply into the small alley between the apothecary and the next store. "What's wrong with you, Snuffles?" she hissed. He was blocking her in tightly against the side of the building, and a low growl was building deep in his throat. Every strand of fur on his back was standing on end. Holly immediately realized that whatever was going on, this was not time for games. Whoever that man was, he was dangerous. Cold and sharp as a razor, she felt the edge of the man's mind. It was ruthless, malicious, evil. It was the mind of a Death Eater.  
  
"Sirius," she whispered, speaking each word slowly and deliberately. "Let me see." Sirius hesitated, but backed off. Holly stayed low to the ground and cautiously peeked around the corner of the building.  
  
The man's back was towards her. He carried an ornate cane, and silvery- blonde hair hung long and thick from his head. "Really now, Lupin." The voice was oily and poisonous. "Do you honestly believe that Dumbledore will be able to maintain his hold of the public's loyalty? He has allowed one disaster after another at what was once a fine school of magic. People fear for the safety of their children. Now, he's preaching about the Dark Lord. Dangerous idea, is it not?"  
  
"You think far too highly of yourself." Lupin's eyes appeared hooded and his voice was dark as he growled a low response. Holly had to strain to hear him. "Do you figure you should have the public's loyalty instead? Thinking of taking over the Ministry yourself, Malfoy?"  
  
"Somebody has to keep the magical community in line." Malfoy sneered. "The real magical community, not the dregs. People are simple-minded and fearful. They'll be looking for strong leaders who can demonstrate control in these dark times. So simple."  
  
"I suppose you believe it will be as simple to override Dumbledore's influence and control."  
  
"Dumbledore has no control." He laughed smugly and thudded the butt of his cane on the ground for emphasis, completely deserting any pretense of being uninvolved with Voldemort. "He does not control the fate of the Ministry, or the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord has been ready for the fall of the Ministry for a long time, werewolf. His servants are ready.  
  
"And where are his servants, Malfoy?" Lupin took a small, threatening step towards Malfoy. Holly had to allow herself a touch of awe for Lupin. Malfoy's demeanor and stature could have easily dominated the smaller, more simply-clad wizard, but apparently there was much more to Lupin than met the eye.  
  
"In places you can't touch and places you would never expect." Malfoy tipped his head back and wrinkled his nose up. "Wouldn't you love to know his new stronghold."  
  
"There's no better stronghold in Britain than Hogwarts. Voldemort will never take it, you know as well as I do, you just can't admit it." Lupin allowed himself a vague smile. "How embarrassing it must be. Your sovereign of Dark magic can't even penetrate the barriers of a school. Not as long as Dumbledore is there, and Voldemort still doesn't dare to face Dumbledore himself."  
  
"You really think so? It's almost pitiful. Dumbledore, the most renowned wizard of the century, is spending his time playing nursemaid to a school full of mudbloods. He may soon find that even Hogwarts is beyond his control."  
  
It took every shred of control Lupin had to keep from visibly blanching at that thought. Instead, he tried for an undercut. "You love to gloat, don't you? Be careful what you tell me, Malfoy. What would the community think if they knew every word of this conversation?" He folded his arms together, casually slipping his hand up his sleeve and brushing his fingers against the handle of his wand.  
  
"As if they would take the word of a werewolf over my word. Oh, that's a fine thought. You, a werewolf, in your tattered excuse for a robe, having to sell your family's heirlooms to survive, convince the public to turn against the Malfoy name? The number of galleons we've given to St. Mungo's and other lovely little charities would cause even the most discerning wizard to feel . . . kindly towards us. The parents of your own students would have killed you themselves rather than let you continue to teach their children once they found out. They certainly won't believe a single accusation you could bring against me."  
  
"Oh, the public doesn't need to hear it from me." Lupin's eyes burned as he spoke. "The facts speak for themselves. Ink and parchment are powerful allies in the right hands, aren't they?"  
  
Malfoy took a half step backwards, momentarily speechless. Slowly, his expression shifted, eyebrows lowering and mouth turning sharply downwards into a venomous scowl. "Watch where you meddle, Lupin. Things can happen to people who know too much. You wouldn't want to end up like the Longbottoms."  
  
With that, Lucius Malfoy brushed past Lupin and retreated quickly down a dark alley near the end of the street. Lupin turned in place and held his ground as he watched Malfoy's departure. When the dark wizard was finally out of sight, Holly could see Lupin's shoulders slump as he let out a deep breath. He took a shaky step to a street bench and leaned heavily against it, closed his eyes and tipped his head forward into his hands. Holly was suddenly aware of how much emotion he had bottled up during the course of that exchange.  
  
She tore from her hiding place beside the Apothecary and ran to Lupin, Snuffles right on her heel. Lupin opened his eyes and looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Holly? What were you doing hiding back there?"  
  
"Never mind me," she said in a rush. "I finished at Ollivander's and came looking for you. Who the hell was that?"  
  
Lupin let out a deep sigh. "Lucius Malfoy. He's someone who might cause a lot of trouble for us in upcoming weeks and months, as if he hasn't already caused enough trouble."  
  
"He's a Death Eater." There was no question in Holly's voice. Lupin appeared momentarily surprised by the bold statement, but realized quickly that he would have to learn to expect such things. He looked at her, his face tight, but finally, he nodded.  
  
"We know that, but not everyone does. In fact, most people have no idea. His name was cleared a long time ago, but we discovered for certain last spring that he is still quite involved with Voldemort."  
  
Holly searched Lupin's face. "Why do you always avoid detail when it has to do with Harry? He was the one who discovered it, isn't he?"  
  
Lupin dropped his head again, out of resignation but now also from a sorrow that was gnawing at the corners of his being. He swallowed against the tightness that was growing in his throat and nodded. "Can't put a thing past you, can we?"  
  
"Why would you want to?" She rested one hand softly on his shoulder. "It's ok. I know Dumbledore doesn't want me to know everything yet, and I'll trust that there's a good reason."  
  
Lupin finally raised his head and gave her a weak smile of pure gratitude. "That makes my job a lot easier."  
  
"Just don't be so hard on yourself, ok? Don't let Malfoy get to you."  
  
"Why do you say that? It's not so easy."  
  
She smiled at him. "It seems it could be. Trust yourself, and keep fighting him and the rest of them. Pure courage can't be destroyed, you said that yourself. As long as you don't let him get to you, as long as you don't allow yourself to fear him, then he can't really win, can he?"  
  
Lupin finally let himself return the smile properly, but his posture remained tense. "You're almost too good of a student, throwing the lesson back at the professor." He stood, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder, paying particular attention to the dark alley where Malfoy had disappeared. "I've got the potions supplies. We've done enough shopping for today. I think now is a good time to get out of here."  
  
The trio left the isolated corner of the street near the Apothecary and slipped back into the ebb and flow of the human tide of Diagon Alley.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
A/N: I'd like to say hello and thank you to all the new readers. Welcome aboard! I regret to say that it'll probably be a bit over a week before I can get the next section complete. I'm in the middle of final exams at my university, and I'm being thoroughly flattened. Believe me, I'd rather be working on the story than studying, but responsibilities first, right? I'll get it out as soon as I can.  
  
As always, please drop me a review so that I can get an idea of how I'm doing. Reviews are awesome, feedback is great, CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is helpful, and I appreciate you taking the time to do any of those. I look forward to each one. Remember to leave your e-mail if you want me to reply. This is a learning process for me . . . I've never written something like this before.  
  
To those who wish to follow me as a writer, I have plans for two future fanfics in the works. I'm still debating whether to make the Potter Legacy last one year, or all three. The jury is still out on that decision. Even one year will probably be over 200,000 words long, so think about the commitment I'd be getting into. I DO plan to keep writing no matter what though. I don't think I could quit if I wanted to. 


	15. Trust in the Leadership

Interlude  
  
"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley called from the back door of the Burrow. "Come inside or you'll miss breakfast!"  
  
Ron pulled his broomstick sharply to the left and made a stunning backhanded save before hollering back, "Okay, mum!"  
  
In the two weeks since Percy's memorial, life in the Burrow had slowly returned to normal. One night, Harry had awoken in his blankets on the floor to the sound of muffled sobs as Ron finally allowed himself to mourn for his brother. Harry would never let Ron know that he'd actually heard him crying, but the next day, the heavy tension that Ron had carried since the memorial had been lifted.  
  
At sunup, Ron had shaken Harry awake and whispered, "Harry, I know it's early, but would you mind a game of Quidditch?"  
  
Every morning since then, Ron and Harry had collected their brooms and made their way to the pitch while the rest of the Weasleys were asleep. While they were playing, Harry could see that Ron was able to let the rest of the world fade away. Harry knew how he felt, and for that reason, Harry decided not to create any other reasons for Ron to need to come back to earth. He hadn't told Ron about Holly. He hadn't told Hermione about Holly. He hadn't even told Sirius about Holly. Of course, Mr. Weasley hadn't told Harry about Holly either.  
  
Harry had spent more than his share of time pouring over his decision to blurt out such a question on what amounted to a whim, without even understanding what he was asking. Mr. Weasley's wistful expression had rapidly transformed into shock, and for several moments, Harry wondered if Mr. Weasley was remembering to breathe. Harry would never forget the look of pure pleading in Mr. Weasley's eyes when he had finally replied, "It's nobody Harry. Please, it's nobody."  
  
Harry didn't want to accept that, but he understood very clearly that he wouldn't have much of a choice. It was also clear that he had put Mr. Weasley into an extremely tight spot or some sort, and he just couldn't do that to him again. The poor wizard had more than enough worries, and Harry decided to behave as though it had never happened. The problem was, it had happened, and Harry couldn't forget that.  
  
Still, it was easier this way, he thought to himself as he and Ron touched down and began a leisurely stroll back to the Burrow for breakfast. Excruciating, but easier. He'd find out eventually, and he was certain the time would come soon. Until then, his mind was turning somersaults trying to make sense of that brief moment when Holly's name had appeared in his thoughts. In that moment, Harry knew he had looked into Mr. Weasley's mind. In that moment, he had discovered a trace of what could only have been the Mind Touch. He hadn't felt it again since, and he wasn't so sure he wanted to. It was one more thing that would make him different. He'd had enough of that his whole life. Still, perhaps it could answer some of his questions.  
  
The boys let themselves in through the back door, sniffing appreciatively at the aromas of freshly cooked bacon and hot toast. Ron ran upstairs to the bathroom to clean up, and Harry made his way into the kitchen.  
  
The Weasley's tiny kitchen seemed so empty. Charlie had left just yesterday to close up some final details in Romania before returning to assist Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore. Bill had left almost a week ago. The Gringotts goblins didn't stop work for anything, and Bill's presence was required. Mr. Weasley was still asleep, exhausted after another long night's work. With only the twins and Ginny waiting for them at the table, the room almost felt spacious. Bizarrely, Harry decided that he missed the crowding. It compensated for the isolation he always seemed to impose on himself. He sat down at the table and helped himself to the pile of toast.  
  
"So Harry," said George as he reached across for the pumpkin juice. "Have you thought much about the Quidditch season this year?"  
  
"Yeah, Harry," piped Fred, sounding strangely eager. "Have you?"  
  
"Well sure. It's been over a year since any of us have really played. It's going to be a rough season."  
  
"No, Harry." Fred shook his head, grinning evilly. "We're talking leadership. We need a new captain."  
  
"That's easy. Angelina," Harry said firmly. "She's a good, level-headed player, and a 7th year."  
  
George shook his head. "We just owled her about it. She says she's going to be far too busy getting ready for her N.E.W.T.'s. Plus, she may be a great chaser . . ."  
  
". . . the absolute best . . ."  
  
". . . but she's not really all that great at designing a training program for the other positions. She doesn't want the job."  
  
"Have you talked to Katie or Alicia?" Harry had a funny feeling where this was going, and he didn't like it.  
  
Fred nodded, expressing a look of absolute chagrin. "It's the same thing. Plus, neither one of them wants to take the job over her best friend. They're not Wood. They may love Quidditch, but it's not the same thing to them as it was to him."  
  
"Although that's not necessarily a bad thing," George nudged his brother.  
  
"True enough," Fred agreed. They both turned back on Harry.  
  
Harry scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. "Well, you two are the only other 7th years . . ."  
  
". . . and you'd be nuts to let us take over." Fred interjected helpfully.  
  
Harry looked from Fred to George, both of whom were grinning broadly. "That leaves . . ." Harry let his jaw drop slightly as the funny feeling became a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Oh no. No you don't. No way. Not a chance. Forget about it, because it's not going to happen."  
  
"Come off it, Harry!" Fred stood and walked over behind Harry, rubbing his shoulders patronizingly. "You're a natural born leader. You're top rate at Quidditch, and you're our seeker. You'd be great."  
  
Harry knocked Fred's hands away from his shoulders. "Cut that out. I am not a 'natural born leader,' and I would not be great. If Angelina doesn't know much about putting together a training program, then I know less than nothing."  
  
"Well, who else is there?" George cried, throwing his hands into the air in defeat. "We've got no other returning players, and how many brand new players could possibly know enough about our program and have the expertise to be a captain?"  
  
"Ron knows enough about Quidditch to run a national training program. If he took over the Cannons, they might even win!" Harry shot back at George, meaning every word of it, and only realizing a second later exactly what he had said. Harry and the twins sat wordlessly for a moment, staring back and forth at each other as the obvious implications of that statement sunk in.  
  
Fred broke the silence, speaking barely above a whisper. "Do you think it would work? A new player as captain? It's never been done . . ."  
  
". . . but there's a first time for everything," George continued for his twin. "And Harry's right. Ron knows more about the fine details of Quidditch than the rest of us combined."  
  
Ginny, who had been silently observing the conversation, set her empty glass on the table with a loud bang, effectively inserting herself into the dialogue. "Maybe you should discuss this with Ron before you make a decision like that for him."  
  
"Discuss what with me?" Ron strolled into the kitchen, a little bit of water still dripping from his freshly washed hair. He pulled out a chair next to Harry's and dug directly for the toast. When his casual question was not answered immediately, however, he dropped the toast on his plate and eyed the twins suspiciously. "Discuss what with me?" He turned to his best friend. "Harry? What were you talking about?"  
  
"Well," Harry began slowly, "we were talking about the upcoming Quidditch season. You are going to try out for the Keeper position, aren't you?" He had a hard time keeping the undercurrent of pleading from his voice. Harry had always simply assumed that Ron was going to try for it, but he had never actually asked, and Ron had never actually mentioned anything directly himself. He just had to be the Keeper.  
  
Ron stared at Harry incredulously. "Did you ever expect that I wouldn't have a go at it?" He laughed. "Of course I'm trying for it. You know that. Why do you ask?"  
  
"We have a couple of positions to fill this year, Ron," Fred announced as though beginning a speech. "Keeper . . . Captain . . ."  
  
". . . and we're in a bit of a spot trying to fill those positions," George finished.  
  
Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "You know I'll go for Keeper, but that's not it, is it? What are you two getting on about?"  
  
Harry shook his head and sighed. This was ridiculous. He grabbed Ron by the shoulder and spun him around so they were facing each other. "Ron, we need a Captain and you're the best wizard for the job. What do you say?"  
  
It looked for a moment as though Ron's freckles were about to jump off his face in shock. "But . . . but . . . I'm not even on the team . . ."  
  
". . . Yet, that is," George cut in. "Not yet."  
  
"But it would be my first year playing!" he protested, although he wasn't quite sure why he would protest such a thing. "I'd have no idea what to do."  
  
"You know more about Quidditch than anyone I've ever met, including Oliver Wood," Harry said, as though that decided the matter. "You know the plays, you know the techniques, you know the training methods the international players use. I also couldn't imagine anyone else nearly as dedicated to Quidditch in general."  
  
Ron stared at the piece of toast left untouched on his plate. "I can't believe you're asking me this. I had always hoped, I suppose, but I figured it would never happen." He glanced back at Harry with an unreadable expression. "I guess I always figured it would be you."  
  
There was so much unspoken underneath the surface of that simple comment. Harry gritted his teeth to stifle the awkward twinge that was pulling at him. Ron knew Harry didn't want the spotlight, but that did nothing to erase the feeling Ron had that he was the sidekick, the second, "Harry's best friend." Harry eyed Ron bleakly. "Why would you think that? It takes a lot more than being able to catch a Snitch to be a good captain. I can't write a training program. You could."  
  
Ron seemed to consider that carefully. He pinched at his chin, staring off at the ceiling. "Well, I would need my own dressing room, a set of Quidditch robes laced with real gold trim, and you'll have to lend me your broomstick, Harry, but I think I could pull this off." He turned his eyes back down with a broad grin. "You know I'm joking. Of course I can do it." He held out his hand to Harry.  
  
Harry returned the smile. "Excellent." He clapped Ron's hand with a hearty grip in congratulations.  
  
Fred jumped up from his chair. "Oh! Warm family moment!" He ran to Ron and Harry and grabbed their interlocked hands and into a vigorous three-way handshake, then proceeded to fluff Ron's hair thoroughly.  
  
"Bugger off!" Ron yelled, swatting at his brother.  
  
Determined not to be outdone by his twin, George pulled Ginny from her seat at the table and lifted her off the ground in a terribly awkward excuse for a hug. "Ouch! George, put me down! You're pinching my arm!"  
  
"What is going on here?" Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen, laden with a large pot of porridge. "What are you kids yelling about?"  
  
George let Ginny down quickly and exclaimed, "We've got a new Quidditch captain in the family, mum!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley set the pot on the table and stared at George skeptically. "And I don't suppose you're going to say it's you, George?"  
  
George shook his head. Mrs. Weasley turned to the other twin and opened her mouth to ask, but Fred also shook his head. "Nope." He pointed down at Ron, whose cheeks were almost as red as his hair, which was now messier than Harry's after Fred had finished with it.  
  
"Ron? You're the new captain?" Mrs. Weasley's mouth opened in surprise as she brought he hands to her cheeks. "My goodness! Oh, I'm so proud of you! I knew you could do it." She gathered Ron into a tight hug.  
  
"Whoa, mum, easy there! I can't breathe!" Ron fought for air through his mother's embrace, but Harry could see that he was enjoying it. For once, he was out of his brother's shadow and had gotten his mother's full attention, without having to crash a flying car into a tree.  
  
She finally released him, still beaming. "Just wait until your father hears this."  
  
"Hears what?" a sleepy voice asked as Mr. Weasley stumbled through the kitchen doorway, evidently just having gotten out of bed. "What's all the yelling for?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley greeting him with a hug and kiss on the cheek before exclaiming proudly, "We have another Quidditch captain in the family."  
  
Mr. Weasley's face fell as he looked directly at Fred and George, mumbling sleepily, "The Gryffindor Quidditch team is doomed. It's all over."  
  
"No!" Mrs. Weasley chided him with a small slap on the arm. "It's Ron!"  
  
Mr. Weasley's expression shifted from fear to surprise to delight in the course of a split second. "Ron?"  
  
The youngest Weasley boy was still sitting in his chair at the table, glowing like a bright red beacon. He nodded. Mr. Weasley launched himself on Ron, grasping his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "Oh, this is cause for celebration! Molly, we'll have a bit of a garden party tonight, bonfire and everything. Ron, I'm so proud of you!"  
  
Ron wasn't saying a word. His face said it all. He managed to catch Harry's eye over his father's shoulder, and Harry knew that he was witnessing one of his best friends' dreams come true. It was hard not to get a bit teary-eyed watching the happy scene. Harry had never forgotten what Ron had seen the night he had stepped in front of the Mirror of Erised. Now, he was living out the one thing he had most wanted in the world: to be important.  
  
The bittersweet thought caught Harry off-guard. Ron was finally having his dream come true, but what about Harry's dream?  
  
{"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" "How can it? All my family are dead . . . "}  
  
Perhaps, just maybe, she had been there before, in that incredible mirror. He had never looked closely enough at the faces of the people standing behind his parents. Perhaps, just maybe, like Ron, Harry might find part of his dream coming true. He let his shoulders slump. Since when had anything ever gone right for him?  
  
A loud thud pulled Harry from his thoughts and the Weasleys from their celebration. A large mess of grey feathers had collided with the unopened half of the kitchen window and was lying in a heap on the sill.  
  
"Errol!" Ginny pushed past George, rolling her eyes. "Ron, why don't you have Pig do the family mail?" she demanded as she opened the window the rest of the way and unceremoniously scooped up the dilapidated owl. She leaned out the window and reached for the copy of the Daily Prophet which had landed in the flower box.  
  
"That's why," Ron pointed at the newspaper in Ginny's hand. "You weren't awake the morning that Pig tried to bring home the Prophet. The paper is four times his size. One of the Daily Prophet's company owls finished the delivery by bringing home the paper in one talon and Pig in the other talon, both soaking wet. Pig had ditched into a lake."  
  
Ginny handed the copy of the Prophet to Mr. Weasley and set Errol with a piece of toast. The cheerful mood gave way to light conversation. Ron began a running commentary on all the brilliant ideas he had for the team, and the only person not surprised by the depth of his knowledge was Harry. The twins were listening, dumbfounded, as Ron outlined a tactical arrangement for Beaters he had derived from the Ireland team's methods. He was just explaining a technique of hitting the Bludger between the Chasers as a means of disrupting the Quaffle when shattering ceramic brought all conversation to a grinding halt.  
  
Mr. Weasley's teacup lay on the floor in pieces, the spilt tea leaving a puff of steam hovering above it. Nobody cared about the cup. Behind the copy of the Prophet, Mr. Weasley's face had frozen, eyes wide. "By Merlin. How did he do it? We had secured it. I know we had secured it."  
  
"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley pulled down the edge of the newspaper. "What is it?"  
  
"What happened, Dad?" Fred pushed his plate aside and leaned across the table.  
  
Mr. Weasley did not speak, but slowly turned the paper around so that the rest of the family could view the headline.  
  
"AZKABAN SECURED: LUCIUS MALFOY REASSURES THE MAGICAL COMMUNITY"  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Holly felt it before she saw it. A cold sensation, vague as a memory and sharp as a ball of ice, had settled in her stomach. The sensation wasn't coming from her, but instead from someone else in the room. She dropped her fork on her plate and stared at Sirius.  
  
Sirius had made a consistent effort to maintain a positive and constructive attitude during the two weeks she had known him, and in those two weeks, she had discovered how difficult the effort had been for him. A few times, she had overheard bits of conversations between him and Remus, and had almost been surprised at just how deadly serious he could be. Almost, but not quite.  
  
He was a powerful wizard, and a strong person. Although his Transfiguration skills had occasionally created amusing results, his skills in other areas, particularly Defense Against the Dark Arts, were phenomenal. Despite his natural tendency to joke, Holly had realized slowly just how much danger he had experienced in his life, and admired how well he kept it buried when he was around her. It was as though he hadn't wanted to give her anything else to worry about, and she decided to let him have that small comfort. Now, a flood of emotion was brewing just beneath the surface. For the first time since Holly had known him, she felt fear in him. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.  
  
Sirius was staring bleakly at the newspaper in front of him. His complexion had lost all color, almost waxy under his black hair. Although he hadn't moved an inch, he gave the impression that he was slowly recoiling as he read.  
  
"Sirius?" Holly asked tentatively. He didn't respond, but almost imperceptibly began shaking his head.  
  
Lupin looked up from his toast. "Sirius? What is it?"  
  
His voice was ragged and choked. "Azkaban. They've got Azkaban."  
  
"What?" Lupin cried in shock. He tore the newspaper from Sirius's hand and read aloud.  
  
"On the behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy extends his most sincere assurances that Azkaban has been secured from those who would wish to cause further damage to the system. Says Malfoy, all convicted supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are safely inside the walls of the prison fortress, under the direct control of the Ministry and the Dementors. He reiterates that You-Know-Who has not returned, and the new crime wave is the result of a group of renegade Death Eaters who were not properly detained under Fudge's poorly-run Magical Law Enforcement program. Malfoy promises that those responsible for the recent terror will soon find themselves with the other criminals in Azkaban."  
  
Holly gawked at the sudden change that had swept over the faces of the two wizards in the room. Usually level-headed and confident, even Lupin was obviously shaken by the news. His emotions were a mix of fury and alarm. "So that's the stronghold. That's what Malfoy was talking about," he said bitterly.  
  
Holly was almost afraid to ask, but she had to. "What does that mean?"  
  
Sirius continued to stare at the wall, unmoving, as he replied. "That means the threat to the Magical world, and the Muggle world, has become much, much more severe. Voldemort has his all his strongest supporters back. He has the Dementors." Sirius shuddered, then finally met Holly's eyes. "It's only a matter of time now." 


	16. Return to Hogwarts

Chapter 12  
  
That summer was either the longest or shortest month of his life, Harry decided. The days had blurred one into the next until finally fading away to September.  
  
The Death Eater attacks had stopped, but the Ministry . . . who knew what the Ministry was anymore? Who was actually in charge? The Daily Prophet articles were ambiguous at best, blatantly supportive of Malfoy at worst. It was easy to see how the man had such power over the community; he made an impressive public figure. Politics are a strange sort of ballet under normal circumstances, and in this performance, some of the dancers were deadly. Now, the curtain seemed to have fallen on the intermission and not even Harry was sure what was happening backstage. Whatever it was, he didn't like it.  
  
September 1st dawned warm and humid. The sky had a yellow tinge and London itself seemed suspended in the thick haze as the Weasleys and Harry made their way from the Leaky Cauldron to King's Cross Station. Mr. Weasley had not joined them, once again being far too busy and far too tired to do anything extra. Without him, and of course, Percy's usual tirade of lectures, everything seemed too quiet. In fact, it wasn't just the Weasleys who seemed quiet. The crowds on the platforms were subdued as though something in the air forbade the usual cacophony. It was just as well; Harry didn't feel much like talking anyway.  
  
Mrs. Weasley was issuing hushed lectures to her flock as they approached Platform 9 ¾. "Now Fred, George, this is not the year to be over-burdening Professor Dumbledore, do you hear me? I don't want to have any more letters home about hexed cauldrons and exploding toilet seats."  
  
"But mum!" Fred protested, "We didn't hex that cauldron!"  
  
"We just enhanced it!" George agreed.  
  
Mrs. Weasley rounded on the twins just in front of the barrier. "I doubt Professor Snape thought that toads randomly hopping out of his cauldron were an enhancement."  
  
"No, but the whole class sure did," Fred winked at his brother.  
  
Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "You two had best pay attention to your studies. After your performance on the O.W.L.'s, you had best make a good show of yourselves on the N.E.W.T's. You need to make something of yourselves." The ice in her glare let the twins know without any question that this was not the time to argue. They nodded mutely.  
  
As other students from Hogwarts began to slowly trickle their way through the barrier, Mrs. Weasley continued her lecture with next in line. "Ginny dear, you be careful, remember everything your father and I told you. Good luck in your Arithmancy class. I know you'll do well."  
  
"Yeah," Ron interjected. "And if you have trouble, just ask Hermione. She probably knows it better than the professors." A year ago, that remark might have sounded snide, but this time, Harry noted, it didn't.  
  
"Ask me what?" asked a friendly voice approaching from the far end of the platform. Hermione waved over her shoulder at her parents then resumed pushing her trolley to where the Weasleys were standing.  
  
"Hi Hermione!" Harry greeted her as she pulled her trolley alongside his and Ron's.  
  
Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a small push towards the barrier. "Go on through with Fred and George, Ginny. There are too many of us, we're making a scene. Off you go, now. Hello Hermione, dear."  
  
"Hi Harry, hi Mrs. Weasley," she returned the greeting then faced Ron. "Ask me what?"  
  
"Ginny's taking Arithmancy this year, and you did so well last year, she'd be able to ask you questions." Ron paused, looking at Hermione as though trying to figure out what to say next.  
  
She gave him an exasperated sort of smile. "And hello to you too, Ron."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Hi, Hermione." Ron blushed almost imperceptibly. He seemed to be deciding whether or not to make a mad dash for the barrier then and there.  
  
"I've got something to show you two when we get on the train." Hermione flicked her eyes at Harry. "Two things, actually."  
  
"Have you got good news?" he asked hopefully. Hermione had been working on Voldemort's book all month, and had refused to say anything until they got to the train. "Owl post is too risky," she had written.  
  
She pressed her lips together. "I'll tell you on the train."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, let's work at getting on the train then." Pulling his trolley and pushing Hermione's, Ron started towards the barrier when Mrs. Weasley caught the edge of his shirt.  
  
"And you, Ronald Weasley, don't think you can get away without your fair warning." Ron swallowed and peered meekly at his mum as she continued her sermon. "You had best not spend so much time on Quidditch that you ruin your O.W.L.'s. I expect much better than what Fred and George did. You have to set an example for your sister."  
  
"But mum," he moaned, "Ginny does fine anyway."  
  
"That's not the point, young man. Quidditch is excellent, but your classes come first." Her expression softened and she beamed at him for a moment. "I am still so proud of you though." She patted Ron on the arm and he and Hermione took off through the barrier.  
  
Harry made a move to follow his friends when Mrs. Weasley caught him short. "Harry, one moment, please."  
  
Harry almost didn't want to listen to what might be coming. Every time someone wanted to speak with him, the conversation usually left him more worried than anything else. He eyed the steady flow of students systematically sneaking through the barrier at odd intervals, wanting a chance to escape, but at the same time, knowing he didn't have a choice. Besides, Mrs. Weasley had done nothing but care for him as a mother. He had to listen. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
"Harry dear, I just wanted to wish you luck at school this year. It's going to be an interesting term, and I wanted to remind you that it is still ok to have fun. Enjoy your Quidditch, pay attention to your classes." She sighed. "Trust Dumbledore. There's no safer place than Hogwarts, and you'll be absolutely fine. You might even find some things to be a pleasant surprise."  
  
Why was it that whenever someone told him that Hogwarts was perfectly safe, he found himself almost being killed? "What kind of surprises?"  
  
"Oh, I'm certain you'll see when you get there. Just . . ." she hesitated. "Do be careful, dear, but do have fun. Now, run along. I'm sure everyone is waiting for you." She smiled sweetly at him as she gave him a soft but firm push towards the barrier.  
  
"Thank you Mrs. Weasley. I will," he promised. A short moment and a few steps later, Harry emerged into the throng of students standing before the Hogwarts Express. He scanned the crowd. It seemed that there were fewer people this year than last. It was no surprise, although he breathed a deep sigh of relief when he caught sight of Cho in the middle of a cluster of Ravenclaws. There were Dean and Seamus standing not to far from Cho's group. Neville seemed to be frantically searching his robes for something as his grandmother hovered over him looking none too happy. He probably misplaced his wand, Harry chuckled to himself. Finally, he caught site of Ron's shock of red hair sticking out over the crowd. He started weaving his way towards them when he overheard a snippet of conversation.  
  
". . . a good thing that Lucius Malfoy finally has matters under control. Father would never have let me come otherwise. The Ministry is handling things perfectly well, I'm sure." The girl's voice was confident.  
  
Harry snuck a sideways glance and saw a small group of third year Ravenclaws talking amongst themselves in a tight circle.  
  
"Do you really think things are safe now?" asked a gawky blonde boy whose voice cracked several times in the short sentence.  
  
"Of course I do." The girl was small with dark hair, an upturned nose, and the look of someone who hadn't lifted a finger for herself her entire life. "The attacks have stopped, haven't they? All we needed was for someone like Malfoy to step up and catch the wizards who were raising hell."  
  
Harry grimaced to himself and kept walking. He had seen the articles in the Daily Prophet, but this felt a lot more real. It wasn't even a Slytherin who was siding with Malfoy, although in that girl's case, she probably just didn't know any better. Of course, in the long run, it might not make a difference.  
  
"Ah good, Harry, you're here," George announced his arrival to the group. "Here, let's get your luggage into the storage compartment."  
  
"Thanks," Harry helped unload the few items from his trolley. Hedwig chattered in her cage as Harry swung the cage unceremoniously from the top of the luggage pile. "Sorry about that, Hedwig." Harry finished shoving his trunk into storage with George's help and checked back over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione who were talking quietly. Ginny was standing a few meters away with some of the Gryffindor fourth years. "Where's Fred?"  
  
George burst with a short laugh, then recovered. "He's already on the train with Angelina. They're saving the compartment, but I wonder if they're saving it just for themselves."  
  
Harry's mouth formed a small, silent "o." George continued. "What about you, Harry? Maybe you should save a compartment for Cho."  
  
"No," Harry replied stoutly.  
  
The train whistle sounded and the few remaining students piled aboard. As Harry was stepping into the car, he saw a flash of silver-blond hair boarding the train several cars down. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people he had hoped would not return, why couldn't Draco have stayed with his father to help him in his attempt to take over the world? Harry pulled his head into the car as quickly as he could so that Draco wouldn't see him. One thing he did not want was a confrontation.  
  
Harry finally found the cabin where Ron was waiting. "Where's Hermione?" he asked as he settled down across from Ron.  
  
"She ran to the bathroom to change into her robes."  
  
The train jolted into motion at the stroke of 11:00 and Harry and Ron glanced out the window to watch the platform begin to pull away from them. Turning back to Ron, Harry cocked his head. "Why would she want to change so early?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Not a bloody clue. Who understands girls anyway?"  
  
"I certainly don't." Harry leaned against the window and gazed out through the corner of his eye. "It'll be a wonder if I manage to avoid any disasters like the Yule Ball last year. At least there won't be one this year."  
  
"Well, if you had gotten started on it early enough instead of waiting until the last minute," Ron egged at him.  
  
"And you were no better!" Harry smirked in return. "If you could have seen the look on your face when Hermione walked into the room . . ."  
  
"Are you going to talk to Cho this year or not?" Ron cut him off.  
  
Harry slumped slightly against the window. "I don't know Ron. After last spring, I still don't think I could face her." He still didn't much feel like discussing the whole event again.  
  
Ron nodded his understanding. "You know," he said softly, "I think she's gotten over that more than you have."  
  
"You don't have to remind me, Ron. I know." He gazed back out the window, craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of the city fading into the horizon.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron's exclamation caused Harry to sit bolt upright and his head to snap around.  
  
Hermione was already dressed in her Hogwarts robes, which were adorned by a shiny Prefect badge perched just above her heart. "What do you think?" she asked softly, but her smile was glowing with pride.  
  
"Why didn't you just tell us?" Ron stuttered, flabbergasted.  
  
Harry laughed. "Congratulations, Hermione." He looked at Ron, who was still staring in surprise, and gave him a swift kick to the knee.  
  
"Oh, er, yes, congratulations," he muttered. "Now why didn't you tell us?"  
  
Hermione sat down next to Ron with a flourish. "I had wanted to surprise you."  
  
Harry leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "It wasn't that much of a surprise. Who else were they going to pick? I'm happy for you though. Nobody deserved it more."  
  
Hermione beamed, "Thanks," then reached under the seat and slid out a large basket and removed the lid. An enormous ginger-coloured ball of fur emerged and hopped up on the seat between Hermione and Ron. Crookshanks turned once in place and curled into a ball against Hermione's leg and began purring like an old motor.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Always have to have that cat, don't you?"  
  
"Don't tell me Crookshanks still bothers you," Hermione said in disbelief. "I thought you were over that ages ago."  
  
"No no!" Ron said in a rush. "It's just that, I, er . . ."  
  
"We wanted to know what else you had to tell us," Harry covered for him. "From the train platform."  
  
"Oh! Of course, let me get it." She reached back under the seat and began rummaging in her schoolbag.  
  
While Hermione had her head down, Ron motioned to Harry with a look of utmost relief and mouthed, "Thank you."  
  
"Here it is." Hermione sat up, pulling not one, but two large books from her bag. The first Harry recognized as being the book Mrs. Figg had given him during the summer. The other one . . .  
  
"What book is that?" Harry asked, pointing at the second book.  
  
"This," she said, reaching over and dropping it unceremoniously in his lap, "Is 'Hogwarts: A History.' Honestly, after all this time you still haven't read it?"  
  
"Sorry Professor Granger."  
  
Ron snickered and Hermione caught him sharply wish her elbow before responding to Harry's tease. "Harry, this is important," she snapped, sounding very much the part of a professor. "I marked the page I want you to read."  
  
Harry looked from Hermione to the book in his lap warily. His fingers found the bookmark and he flipped it open to the selected page. A section had been neatly underlined, and he began to read aloud.  
  
"Although the traditions of Avalon and Anglesey had been closed to those with no magical ability, it had long been known that the heritage of the apprentice mattered not. Some of the greatest witches and wizards of the tradition had been born of non-pure magical parentage. Hufflepuff had championed this cause, promoting an emphasis on effort and ability over reliance on heritage. Gryffindor in turn took up this vanguard himself, deciding that Slytherin's selectiveness in the student body was too extreme. The confrontation between Gryffindor and Slytherin led to irreconcilable differences amongst the founders. Even in the face of the inevitable onslaught of the Norman Invasion which threatened to erase the organized magical community from the face of Britain, the Founders' mutual purpose in protecting the traditions of magic was not enough. Slytherin left the school of his own accord with the promise that he had ensured a means by which the school would serve only the pure-blooded when his heir returned."  
  
Harry lifted his eyes from the book. "They're talking about the Chamber of Secrets."  
  
Hermione huffed at him. "Is that all you got from that?"  
  
"Well," Ron cut in, "the rest of it is common knowledge. Nothing special."  
  
Hermione actually nodded. "It's common knowledge, alright. Trouble is, it's wrong."  
  
"It's wrong?" Harry and Ron echoed at the same time.  
  
Harry felt a chill creeping up his spine. "Are you going to tell me the great 'Hogwarts: A History' is incorrect?"  
  
She nodded again. Harry threw up his hands. "And how did you come to that stellar conclusion?"  
  
Instead of replying, she handed him the familiar book bound in green leather. "The page is marked."  
  
Harry felt the chill along his spine increase as he accepted the book. He found the edge of the parchment sticking out somewhere in the middle and flipped it open to the proper page. Nothing was underlined, so he began to read from the top.  
  
"The Mudblood, Gryffindor, called a council of the Founders in response to the now open animosity between his apprentices and those of Slytherin's house. They never arrived at the council room. Gryffindor encountered Slytherin in the hallway on the way to the council and they became engaged in an open confrontation. Hufflepuff arrived moments later and could only look on as the debate became vicious. The argument went on for several minutes, neither wizard gaining the upper hand. Matters almost came to an open duel. Slytherin had begun to pull his wand from its scabbard when he apparently lost all will to fight. Ravenclaw arrived just then, and all three Mudblood-loving founders were present when Salazar Slytherin conceded to leave Hogwarts."  
  
"Stop there," Hermione cut him off. "Slytherin mysteriously looses the will to fight and concedes. That doesn't sound like the Slytherin I've been reading about, and it also doesn't sound much like leaving the school of his own accord."  
  
"Well then, what does it sound like, Hermione?" Ron asked, a touch of his old sarcasm returning.  
  
"Somebody caused him to give up," she said, as though the fact were blatantly obvious.  
  
"Well, then who?" Harry asked, bewildered.  
  
She tipped her head towards the book with a sly grin. "Read that last sentence again."  
  
"Ravenclaw arrived just then . . ."  
  
"Stop," Hermione said for a second time, the sly grin spreading broadly across her face.  
  
Harry let his jaw drop. "How did you . . . that's just . . . my god." He sagged back against the window and let the new information sift through his head.  
  
"There's more, but it's scattered throughout the book. You-Know-Who must have discovered some very interesting source of information, but it all makes perfect sense when you think of it. Did you ever hear the original mottos or mission statements of each of the houses?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"Gryffindor's was 'Courage in the face of adversity.' Hufflepuff's was 'Success through blood and sweat.'"  
  
"That sort of makes you look at Hufflepuff differently, doesn't it?" Ron muttered.  
  
Hermione nodded and continued, "Slytherin's was 'Victory at all costs,' and Ravenclaw's . . ." She paused, dropping her tone slightly. "Ravenclaw's mission statement was "Cultivate the power of the mind."  
  
She eyes Harry carefully, who was now alternating between vaguely nodding and shaking his head.  
  
"So it was Ravenclaw," Ron stated plainly. "You're saying that she had the Mind Touch, Voldemort found out, discovered how much power it had, and went looking for it."  
  
Hermione beamed at Ron. "I'm impressed. That's exactly it. Somehow, he was hoping to find an heir of Ravenclaw, someone who might have carried that trait."  
  
Ron's eyebrows knitted together. "But Ravenclaw didn't have any children. She couldn't have an heir."  
  
Now it was Hermione's turn to let he jaw drop. "Ron! I . . . I'm really impressed!  
  
Realizing that he'd struck gold, Ron folded his arms across his chest and lifted his chin. "Not completely unaware, am I?"  
  
"Apparently not," Harry mused. "How did you know that? History of Magic?"  
  
"Ron hasn't stayed awake through more than ten cumulative minutes of History of Magic since I've known him," Hermione said skeptically.  
  
Ron unfolded his arms, appearing mildly sheepish. "I overheard my father saying something about it last week. Something to do with one of the meetings he'd gone to with Dumbledore. He said there was no way Ravenclaw could have an heir." He scratched the back of his head. "Why would they be searching for Ravenclaw's heir?"  
  
Harry stifled a short laugh as Hermione elbowed Ron sharply. "And you were doing so well," she chided.  
  
Ron rubbed his arm. "Watch the elbows! When did you get so violent? I'm going to have a permanent bruise there."  
  
Hermione ignored the second question and carried on with her thought. "Obviously, Dumbledore is looking for the person with the Mind Touch, the person You-Know-Who had mistaken for Harry. It might not have been Ravenclaw's bloodline, but there can't be too many other possibilities. It's a rare trait."  
  
Ron nodded meekly, but Harry wasn't responding. Instead, he was staring intently out the window.  
  
"Harry," Ron prodded, "you don't think it's you, do you?"  
  
Harry slowly shook his head. "Not at all."  
  
"Harry's right, of course," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It was obvious his parents didn't have it, and it if was Harry, why would they still be searching for someone else?"  
  
Harry barely heard them. His eyes focused away from the countryside rolling past the train to the surface of the window pane. He saw the faint outline of his own face, but knew he was searching for something else. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. "What if they've already found her?"  
  
"Huh?" Ron cocked his head.  
  
"What did you say?" Hermione dug.  
  
Harry finally turned away from the window and stood quickly. "I'll be right back."  
  
Ron started to get out of his seat. "Where are you going?"  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder from the door of the compartment. "I'm going to the little wizard's room, nosey."  
  
Harry ran his hand along the wall of the aisle for support as the train swayed along the track. The abrasive touch of the rough paneling also did a measure to keep him grounded in reality, which more and more felt as though it were rapidly slipping away from his grasp. If Hermione's "Hogwarts: A History" was incorrect, and the magical community thought Malfoy was their savior from Voldemort, what could he trust anymore? He pulled open the door to the small restroom and locked it behind him.  
  
He turned on the cold water tap and let the water flow over his hands. Removing his glasses and placing them on the edge of the sink, he cupped his hands and let them fill with water. He held his head over the basin and poured the frigid water over his head and the back of his neck. It was chilling, but it was real, and he quickly poured several more handfuls of water through his hair in rapid succession. If nothing else, it made his head stop spinning.  
  
Harry straightened up and let the water drip down his face and neck, soaking the collar of his t-shirt. He'd be changing into robes soon anyway, so it didn't much matter. Creeping up on him from the back of his mind was an unshakable feeling that something was going to burst wide open very soon. What that was, he had no idea, but he was sure he would go crashing headlong into it, just like everything else.  
  
He gripped the handle of the bathroom door and let himself into the hall . . . only to crash headlong into Draco Malfoy.  
  
"What were you doing in there, Potter?" he sneered. "Doing the world a favour and trying to drown yourself? It's a toilet, not a bathtub. Although hanging out with the Weasel all the time, you might have trouble telling the difference."  
  
It took every shred of control Harry had not to launch himself on Draco. The veins along the sides of his neck bulged unnaturally. "He's worth ten of you, Malfoy."  
  
"Really?" Draco's drawling voice grated on Harry ears. "His whole family is probably worth half a sickle amongst the lot of them. Heh. And Weasel senior likes to think he's got any say in Ministry affairs. My father certainly seems to have matters well in hand."  
  
"You mean your father is well in Voldemort's hand." The slick blonde- haired boy seemed caught off guard by this comment. Whether it was because Malfoy wasn't accustomed to hearing Voldemort's actual name spoken aloud, or because it was the first time someone, especially Harry, had spoken that accusation to Malfoy's face, Harry didn't know, but he sure wasn't about to back down. "Don't think people don't know, Malfoy. Your father is as much a slimy git as you are, and he's not going to keep people fooled forever."  
  
Draco took a threatening step towards Harry, closing the gap between them. His eyes narrowed into icy grey slits. "What do you know, Potter? Look around. Listen. Everyone is hailing my father as the hero who saved them from the Death Eaters. He's got his foot in every organization in the magical community, and more influence than you could possibly understand."  
  
"Try me," Harry challenged. "Your father is an underhanded snake, and you're more than willing to hide under his robes. You're a coward, Malfoy, and so is your father. You can't exist without someone bigger and stronger to hide behind."  
  
"Is that the renowned Gryffindor bravery we all hear about? It's not hiding, Potter. It's playing for the winning team. Let's see how brave you are when you're in the line of fire, alone."  
  
Harry tipped his head up and nailed Draco with a confident glare. "I already did that, Malfoy. A couple of times, actually. Your team lost."  
  
To Harry's surprise, for a split second, Draco actually seemed to choke on the thought, giving it actual consideration, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Draco's tone became low, sharp, and cold. "How can we have lost when the game has just begun?"  
  
"Harry?" a hesitant voice asked from down the hall. Harry turned his head and saw Neville standing just inside the door at the end of the car. "What's going on?"  
  
"Oh look, Potter!" Draco snorted. "Rescued by Longbottom. How embarrassing." He turned back to Harry and hissed, "It's not over Potter. This is a game you can't win." With that, Draco stormed off down the hallway.  
  
Harry shook his head. Couldn't Malfoy just go do Voldemort's bidding somewhere else? "Hiya Neville."  
  
"Harry, what was that all about?" Neville walked up to him, plainly concerned. The boy had grown almost four inches over the summer, Harry noted, and his face had lost some of its roundness. Harry hadn't noticed back at the platform. It was . . . surprising. "That was just Malfoy being Malfoy. You know how he is. Can't miss an opportunity to prove how annoying he is."  
  
Neville seemed partially convinced. "What was he saying about a game?"  
  
"Quidditch," Harry lied. ""He was just pulling scare tactics, saying there was no way I could win this year. He's just a cocky prat."  
  
Neville leaned against the wall as the train swayed, pressing his lips together in disgust. "The whole lot of them are like that, the Malfoys. I can't believe what his father is trying to pull."  
  
Harry turned sharply and stared Neville in the face. "You don't trust Mr. Malfoy? You don't believe the Daily Prophet?"  
  
"I may be a bit of a mug, but I'm not that slow. I've seen him at St. Mungo's." Neville shrank back a bit. "Er, I have family there, so I've been often enough. Mr. Malfoy's been there quite a few of the times I visited. He always looks at me funny." He shuddered. "Gives me the creeps."  
  
Harry sighed in relief. "Well, you're one of the few left who doesn't trust him. I'm glad though." Harry gave Neville a quick look up and down. "You've grown."  
  
Neville actually crouched down somewhat in reaction to this comment as though still not altogether comfortable with his new height. "Oh, thanks. I get it from my father. Gran says she wishes I got the rest of it too, magic that is. I don't know how I'm going to do with the O.W.L.'s this year."  
  
Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, Neville. You can study with Hermione, Ron, and me. With Hermione helping, you can't fail."  
  
Neville's face became hopeful again. "Do you really think so?"  
  
"I'm positive. Now come on. The snack trolley should be along any time."  
  
When they arrived back at Harry's compartment, they found that the snack trolley had already been there, and also that George had joined the party.  
  
"It's about bloody time," said the solitary twin. "I got here to find Ron and Hermione all alone, so as the big brother, it was my responsibility to keep an eye on things until you came back."  
  
Ron looked like he was about to strangle George. Hermione was blushing furiously.  
  
"Er, yeah, right," Harry muttered. "Where's Fred?"  
  
"Oh, well, I was just trying to keep an eye on him and Angelina . . . a boy's got to watch out for his twin . . . but for some strange reason, he didn't seem to like that idea."  
  
"I wonder why," Ron snapped.  
  
"Hi Neville!" George greeted him cheerfully, completely ignoring Ron.  
  
Neville seemed quite glad that the uncomfortable topic had been averted. "Hi George, Ron, Hermione. How have you been?" he asked cautiously.  
  
"Absolutely spiffing," Ron replied, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Now Ron," George chided. "That's no way to welcome someone into a room. Come in, Neville!" he said joyfully, coming to his feet and making a grand sweeping gesture. "Sit down! Have a Bertie Botts!"  
  
Neville looked at George suspiciously, then peered into the box. It looked harmless enough. "Alright, one can't hurt. Lemon-lime should be safe." He selected a bright yellow-green bean, popped it in his mouth, and sighed in relief. "Wow, that one was actually lemon-lime. Hey, what's so funny?"  
  
He brought his hands to his face, searching for feathers or anything else that might have sprouted there. Nothing, but now, everyone was laughing. He held out his hands in front of him. His skin had turned the most gaudy shade of chartreuse he had ever seen. "George! My face too?"  
  
George nodded, grinning evilly. "So is everything else too, if you dare to look. What do you think?"  
  
"These . . . these aren't Bertie Botts!"  
  
"Yes, actually, they are. Fred and I sold then the idea. 'Bertie Botts Every Colour Beans; A Hue for Every Taste Bud.'" He held out the package, bursting with pride. It was indeed labeled as he'd said. "Fred and I will be making a percentage from every sale. Mum and dad don't know about it yet because we didn't know how well it would do. If it works, we'll be getting a foot in the door for the market, making some money, and still have time to do a proper job on the N.E.W.T's so mum doesn't kill us." He eyed Neville. "Looks like we've got the green light."  
  
The colour on Neville's faced faded away to reveal that he was blushing with embarrassment. "I may not have the best memory, but that's one thing I never should have forgotten."  
  
"What's that?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Never accept food from Fred or George."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"I'm hungry. When are they going to get here so they can get this show on the road?" Ron thudded his head softly onto the table in front of him and rolled it back and forth, moaning.  
  
"Ron," Hermione assumed her lecture mode, "melodrama will get you nowhere.  
  
Without picking up his head, he rolled his face towards Hermione. "It's getting a rise out of you. I'd say that's somewhere."  
  
"Ron . . ." she said threateningly. "What kind of example do you intend to set for the first years?"  
  
"Well, if they were here, I might worry about setting an example." He turned his forehead back onto the table. "As it is, they're late, and I'm hungry." He resumed rolling his head back and forth.  
  
Harry laughed quietly at his friends, then continued surveying the Great Hall. It hadn't been his imagination back at Platform 9 ¾; there were fewer students than in previous years. The most striking difference was at the Slytherin table. Striking, but not surprising. There seemed to be nearly a full quarter fewer students at the Slytherin table than at any of the others. Of course, Malfoy was still there with his hunkering cronies flanking him. Pansy Parkinson was sitting across the table from Malfoy, partially blocking Harry's view of him, and the group of them were huddled in a tight conversation. Pansy shifted slightly, and Harry caught a view of something that made him feel like gagging. Perched on the breast of Malfoy's robes was a bright, shiny Prefect badge. Harry felt himself blanch.  
  
"Hermione. Psst, Hermione!" he hissed out the corner of his mouth.  
  
"What, Harry?" she asked, still distracted by Ron's behavior.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"He's a prefect."  
  
Ron whipped upright. "What?" He snapped his head towards the Slytherin table, cussing. "Bollocks! That bloody bast . . ."  
  
Hermione grabbed him sharply and yanked him back around. "Shh! Try to be a little bit discreet!"  
  
As Harry watched, Malfoy's head came up and for a brief moment, they made eye contact. Harry had to force himself not to recoil from the gaze. He waited until Malfoy moved to whisper something to Goyle before he turned back to his own friends.  
  
Ron didn't look too healthy. "I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
"Ron, it can't be that bad." Hermione folded her arms definitively below her own Prefect badge.  
  
"That's because you're a Prefect and he can't do anything to you. He hates me. I can see it now."  
  
"He can't do anything to you either," Hermione explained in a more rational tone than seemed natural. "There are rules for the Prefects too, you know."  
  
Ron frowned. "Percy never mentioned that he had to follow any rules. He just liked flaunting them." He looked away quickly, as though speaking casually about his brother was improper.  
  
Hermione gave Ron a quick sympathetic glance. "Percy was a walking rule book. He lived by the rules. The rules were just so much a part of him that it was sometimes hard to see the line between."  
  
Ron's glanced back, but his head stayed bowed. He replied softly, "You're probably right." He raised his eyes without lifting his head. "But I still don't trust Malfoy."  
  
Harry thought back to his own encounter with the Slytherin on the train. "Neither do I, Ron. Neither do I."  
  
He resumed scanning the room, his attention now on the front of the hall. The Sorting Hat was sitting placidly on the four-legged stool in front of the table, and seated behind it, the professors were talking quietly amongst themselves. Dumbledore seemed almost subdued, a stark contrast with his usually energetic start-of-term self. He was speaking intently with Snape. If Snape had been pale before, it was nothing compared to the ghastly undertone of grey that graced his features now. Harry remembered that Dumbledore had sent him on a mission of sorts after the third task, and when he had come back before the end of the year, he had been looking tired and pale then, too. Had he been at it all summer? Harry momentarily felt a flash of sympathy for the man, then horrified at the thought, shook it off.  
  
Professor Sprout was chatting with Professor Flitwick, and . . . Harry did a double-take. Mrs. Figg and Lupin were seated at the far left end of the table, chatting as though they'd known each other for years. "Ron, Hermione, it's . . . it's Lupin and Mrs. Figg!"  
  
"Professor Lupin is back?" Ron's distress over Malfoy's new status seemed temporarily forgotten. "Think he's teaching again?"  
  
"Wait, Harry," Hermione cut in, "is that the same Mrs. Figg who you told us about earlier this summer.  
  
Harry nodded, still surprised at this new discovery. "The very same."  
  
Lupin finally noticed him staring and smiled a greeting across the room. With a sly wink, he pointed down at the table. Lying low under the edge of the table cloth, Harry could see a long black nose and two bright eyes pointed right at him. A great toothy grin spread underneath the nose, and a few feet away, a wagging tail briefly ruffled the edge of the cloth. "And Snuffles," Harry smiled. "Snuffles is here too."  
  
"Aw, Harry, that's great," Ron said.  
  
They had no more time to discuss it before the main door emitted a loud bang and slowly swung open. Professor McGonagall stepped through, leading the traditional flock of dazed, scared, and excited first years. Hagrid slipped in behind them and made his way to the head table, pulling a seat between Mrs. Figg and Professor Sprout.  
  
There were fewer new students this year as well as the shortage of returning students. As they walked past, Harry could make out evidence of raindrops on their robes. He caught a quick glimpse of the ceiling to see that the stars had been blocked by thick clouds and rain was indeed starting to fall, breaking the oppressively still air that had hung over the landscape all day.  
  
The gaggle of first years clustered around in front of the tattered Sorting Hat, huddling close and exchanging nervous and confused glances at each other.  
  
"I wonder what the hat has to say this year," Ron mumbled to himself. He didn't have long to wait. The tear in the front of the hat spread into a mouth, and the hat began to sing its yearly greeting.  
  
"It was a time of fear and strife  
When Hogwarts School was born  
The world of magic threatened,  
And the Land of Britain torn.  
The Founders four proposed a plot,  
To protect the history  
And to carry on their brilliant plan,  
Great Godric thought of me.  
Each year throughout the ages,  
Come new students to this hall.  
With one quick look inside their heads,  
I can sort them all.  
The Gryffindors, in Godric's name  
Have courage to stand strong.  
A Gryffindor defends the truth,  
When all else has gone wrong.  
The commitment of a Hufflepuff  
Through times of toil and unrest,  
Will carry through the worst defeat,  
Persist in life and death.  
The clever minds of Ravenclaws  
Are a strength of great regard.  
With Ravenclaw intelligence  
No challenge is too hard.  
Cunning and resourcefulness  
A Slytherin will wield.  
To any end that one sees fit,  
A Slytherin's strength will yield.  
So sit right down and put me on.  
I'll look between your ears.  
I see it all, I'm never wrong,  
So never doubt or fear.  
Each house has a merit,  
Each student has a part.  
But welcomed here, within these walls  
All are Hogwarts, true, at heart."  
  
"That was different," Harry observed aloud as he joined the traditional applause.  
  
Hermione shrugged. "Times are different now, too. Troubled."  
  
Ron didn't seem terribly keen on the Hat's choice of words. "It's all fine and good, but that's a bit, er, depressing. I can't believe the verse for Hufflepuff. I know it's just a hat, but that was tactless."  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder to the Hufflepuff table. They didn't seem shocked, nor were they behaving differently than any of the other tables in response to the song, save perhaps for their expressions. All along the Hufflepuff table, he could see them exchanging looks of support, smiling with jaws set determinedly. They weren't flashy, but true to their founder's motto, they were tougher than they looked. Observing them now, it was obvious that the Sorting Hat had known exactly what it was doing.  
  
Harry checked Ron's still-flustered expression against those being passed along the Hufflepuff table. "Ron, I think you're reacting harder to it than they are. They seem to be doing just fine. Dumbledore is not someone taken to giving empty comfort. The Sorting Hat sits in his office all year. I suppose it makes sense."  
  
"ANDERSON, SOPHIE." A small, towheaded girl stepped up.  
  
"I wonder why they think scaring kids is the best way to comfort them, the hat and Dumbledore, that is," Ron said out the corner of his mouth.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
"Well," Harry said thoughtfully, "Would you rather be lied to?"  
  
"No! Not at all, it's just that . . ."  
  
"BARTON, EDWARD."  
  
". . . the younger kids are scared enough. I'd reckon a little bit of sugar-coating won't hurt."  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
"Maybe," Harry's tone was edged with bitterness, "but I know I wouldn't want that. I wouldn't want to insult them that way either."  
  
"BROWN, BERNADETTE."  
  
"I suppose," Ron conceded.  
  
Harry didn't hear him. "Hey, where's Snuffles going?" Harry had just barely caught the shaggy black hindquarters and tail slipping through the partially opened door behind the head table. Ron shrugged in reply.  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
Harry continued to watch the door intently, completely ignoring the sorting from "Burnham, Veronica," a new Slytherin through "Martin, Laynie," in Hufflepuff. If Harry had been feeling edgy before, the unexplained disappearance of his godfather during the sorting ceremony cemented the condition. He was left with the baffling sense that Sirius had gone for a reason, as though someone were waiting for him.  
  
Hermione finally noticed how distracted he was. "Harry, he probably just went to the bathroom or something.  
  
"MURRAY, ZACHARY."  
  
"I suppose you're right." The curiosity over Sirius's whereabouts was changing into a nagging at the back of his mind.  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
"Of course I'm right," she said confidently. "Now relax, enjoy the sorting . . ."  
  
"NELSON, JOYCELYN."  
  
". . . and perhaps you might actually start cheering for the new students like everyone else." She smiled at him so that the correction didn't feel too much like a jab. He looked at her blankly, still preoccupied.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
She gave him a light push. "Harry, go on."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Sorry Hermione," he apologized, clapping halfheartedly.  
  
Hermione didn't seem to know whether to regard him with concern or irritation. She settled for rolling her eyes at him and going back to watching the ceremony.  
  
Harry tried to focus; he really did, but that nagging feeling wouldn't go away. He felt like . . .  
  
"NICHOLS, SCOTT."  
  
. . . like he was being watched. He cast his eyes around the hall. Hermione and Ron were completely engrossed in the ceremony. At the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, they were busy greeting their new housemates.  
  
"SLYTHERIN!  
  
Even the Slytherins were occupied with their own business; Malfoy was still in a tight conference with his little gang, not paying the least bit of attention to the Gryffindor table, much less to Harry. At the head table, Lupin, Hagrid, Mrs. Figg, Dumbledore . . . all of them were behaving normally, casually watching and cheering the Sorting Ceremony. Still, Harry couldn't pull the heavy feel of eyes from the back of his neck.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Snuffles slipped carefully through the door behind the head table, then bolted up three sets of stairs as fast as his four feet could take him. He tore down the hall and skidded to a stop in front of an inconspicuous wooden door. He looked left and right down the empty corridor before letting himself in and pushing the door shut behind him. Holly was waiting for him inside and was on her feet at once. Sirius transformed with a faint pop.  
  
"That never ceases to amaze me," Holly smiled lopsidedly at him. "Now, you promised. Are we going?"  
  
"Yes. Follow me, and try to keep up." He opened the door a crack and peeked out. "Still clear. Oh, and be quiet."  
  
"No problem. You don't have to tell me twice."  
  
He nodded, and with another pop, Snuffles stood before her briefly before streaking out the door. Holly tore after him down the corridor and through a small doorway hidden under the main staircase. She emerged into a dimly lit room and sputtered as a cobweb caught across her mouth. Snuffles was still racing ahead. The room felt much like an enormous, dusty, old attic with stacked boxes and objects of all shapes and sizes that she couldn't identify in the shadows. She finally came to a halt behind Sirius at the far end of the room, next to the base of a short set of rickety wooden stairs. He had already transformed back.  
  
"Hey," she gasped, catching her breath, "not fair. You have twice as many legs!"  
  
"He laughed at her. "I'm also twice as old. That more than 200 in dog years."  
  
Holly resisted the urge to blow a raspberry at him. "So, where can we see it?"  
  
Sirius pointed up the stairs to a place where a small shaft of light was piercing through the wall.  
  
"How did you find this place?" she asked as she climbed the stairs.  
  
"Trust me, there isn't a place in this castle I don't know about."  
  
Holly crouched down on the top step in front of the small opening. "Let me guess, another Marauder secret."  
  
Sirius flashed a toothy grin and flexed his fingers like claws in glee at the memory. "We orchestrated one of the best pranks ever from this very spot."  
  
"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, we're right above the Slytherin table here." He winked at her. "Snape never knew what hit him." Sirius was positively beaming in delight.  
  
"You'll have to tell me about that one sometime." She leaned against the wall and pressed her eyes to the hole. "Oh, wow."  
  
"MURRAY, ZACHARY."  
  
There was a cluster of students around a formidable looking woman. One student separated from the group and moved to a small stool next to the woman. "I can see the Sorting Hat. That thing was so strange."  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
Sirius didn't reply, but let her continue to observe and comment.  
  
"There must be a few hundred students here, at least." She looked up and down the lengths of the four tables, searching. She went quiet, and Sirius didn't have to ask what she was looking for. Everyone along the tables was clapping as the new student moved from the Sorting Hat to a table. No, not everyone.  
  
"NELSON, JOYCELYN."  
  
One person at one of the tables was quiet, his hands on the table in front of him. He had a shock of unruly black hair, and she could make out the rims of his glasses.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
A girl with bushy hair nudged him and he began to clap unenthusiastically. Holly watched him intently. "Harry . . ."  
  
Another student was sorted, but again, Harry wasn't clapping. Now, he was looking around the hall somewhat frantically. She could feel waves of confusion and discomfort radiating off of him. Even in Lupin's lessons, when Holly had been concentrating, had hadn't sensed emotions with nearly this level of clarity.  
  
Something struck her like a cold wet towel across the face. "He knows I'm looking at him."  
  
"What?" Sirius asked, confused.  
  
"I'm saying he knows," she repeated. "Harry knows I'm watching him. Look."  
  
Sirius climbed the stairs, scrunched down beside Holly, and peered through the peephole. Harry was, indeed, not paying the least attention to the sorting. Instead, he was snapping his head back and forth, anxiously searching the room. Sirius sucked in a sharp breath. "Dumbledore was right."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Sirius looked at Holly helplessly. "I don't think I'm the person to explain it properly. I don't even really understand it myself. Dumbledore will be able to tell you soon." He braced for the inevitable following question.  
  
"When am I going to meet Harry?"  
  
Sirius sighed. "Dumbledore says soon."  
  
"I'm tired of waiting. The more you keep a person from something, the more they want whatever it is, you know. Simple psychology. So . . . I'm meeting him tonight, right?" She leaned heavily against the wall and folded her arms.  
  
"I don't know, Holly." Her glare bit into his eyes, but he swallowed and continued in a rush. "We'll talk to Dumbledore immediately after the ceremony."  
  
Holly didn't reply, but her disappointment was plain.  
  
Sirius reached across and put a hand gently on her shoulder momentarily. "The Ceremony is almost over. When it is, the house elves will send up our own little welcome feast. The food here is incredible. What say we head back down?"  
  
She shook her head. "No, I want to watch the ceremony a bit longer." She turned her face back to the hole in the wall. Sirius knew as well as she did that she wasn't staying to watch the ceremony.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"WROBBLES, DANIEL."  
  
Harry had given up on trying to locate someone who might be watching him. It was obviously all in his mind; just another piece of reality which seemed to be eluding him at the moment.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
He applauded with the rest of his house as an athletic sprout of a boy sat down at the end of the table with a look of extreme relief. Harry only wished something could offer him some relief from the uneasiness that had settled across his own shoulders.  
  
"ZAMARCHI, KRISTINE."  
  
The last student took her turn under the Sorting Hat.  
  
"It's about bloody time," Ron muttered under his breath. "I'm starved."  
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
The girl rushed to her seat, flushed with excitement amidst the final round of applause. Dumbledore clapped for a brief moment and then stood in his place behind the head table. The assembled students hushed, all eyes now on the headmaster. Even in his tired-looking face, his eyes twinkled. "Now, I believe you are all quite hungry by now . . ."  
  
"Famished," Ron whined.  
  
". . . so, what are you waiting for? Tuck in!"  
  
There wasn't a sound in the Great Hall aside from the clinking of goblets and dinnerware and the occasional grunt as someone pointed at a platter they wanted passed. Ron launched himself on a steak and kidney pie as though he would never see one again and continued to pile food onto his plate even as he consumed what he had.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione looked mortified. "You're making a pig of yourself! What kind of example are you setting?"  
  
Ron eyed her in annoyance at the interruption of his dinner, swallowed, and said, "A hungry example. Could you pass the boiled potatoes?"  
  
"Ooh!" she grumbled, but eventually gave in and passed the potatoes. She caught a look at Harry's almost untouched plate. "Harry, why aren't you eating?"  
  
"What? Oh, that. I'm just not that hungry, I suppose." He was casually rolling a potato around the rim of the plate with his fork.  
  
Hermione twisted her lower lip in disapproval. "Why aren't you hungry? What's gotten into you tonight?"  
  
"Tired."  
  
"Being tired hasn't stopped you from eating before. You only loose your appetite before big Quidditch matches and things like that."  
  
Harry conceded the point with a nod. "I'm just thinking. And I'm a little bit worried I guess."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Malfoy." It wasn't a complete lie. Malfoy's behavior earlier, combined with his new status as Prefect, were certainly cause for distress. "I had a run-in with him on the train."  
  
With the sounds of the feast surrounding them, it was enough of an answer to temporarily placate Hermione. Harry ate more than half his plateful to make sure she didn't ask anymore questions, although the food tasted like sawdust. Nothing seemed quite real. He was grateful when the remainders of the food finally disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the spotless dishes.  
  
The banter faded with the food, and everyone listened quietly for Dumbledore's start-of-term announcements. Well, almost everyone. Harry felt a flash of loathing as he noticed Malfoy's little bunch still whispering in their private conference cat the Slytherin table. Dumbledore ignored them entirely and began to speak.  
  
"I wish to welcome you all back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This past summer has been difficult for many. Not a single student has been unaware of the situation outside these walls. Likewise, not a single student here is to feel alone in his or her struggles. Look to your housemates for support, lend support in return. I will reiterate, we are only as strong as we are united. I will also warn you not to underestimate the gravity of the situation. There is no safer place than Hogwarts, but I will not insult your intelligence by covering the fact that these are dangerous and troubling times. Still, I have no doubt that you will learn valuable things from these experiences. Indeed, the reason you are here is to learn. Remember this.  
  
"Now, it is my pleasure to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Arabella Figg."  
  
Harry heard a snort of laughter from the Slytherin table. He turned and shot a look of pure venom in the Direction of Draco Malfoy, who was pointing, snickering, and being blatantly derogatory. Once again, Dumbledore did not seem to notice.  
  
"Professor Figg has had significant experience in applied Defense techniques, having worked extensively during the Second Muggle War in bringing about the downfall of Grindelwald's forces. Her experiences will be something from which you can al benefit.  
  
"Finally, I will remind you that the Dark Forest is, as always, out of bounds to all students. On Hogsmeade weekends, third years and above with the properly signed permission slips are warned not to travel beyond the town and are advised to stay in groups at all times. That said, it is quite late, and you all have classes in the morning. I wish you all a good night."  
  
There was the expected moan of complaint at the thought of early classes, but sure enough, the students all rose to their feet.  
  
"First years!" Hermione called merrily. "Gryffindor first years, follow me! Stay together now." Hermione was beaming as she assumed her first Prefect duty and led the new Gryffindors out of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron fell into step with Harry, rubbing his stomach painfully. "Oh, I feel stuffed."  
  
Harry chuckled at him. "Well you should. You had three extra helpings."  
  
Ron belched. "Ooh. No. Four."  
  
Harry shook his head at his friend. As they walked, Harry relaxed slightly, taking in the familiar sights. They watched as Peeves barely missed a group of Ravenclaw first years with a dung bomb, sending everyone running with their noses pinched, and leaving Filch yelling and shaking his fist. They greeted Nearly Headless Nick on the stairway between the fifth and sixth floors as he swooped by in search of the Bloody Baron to control Peeves. The finally found themselves in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.  
  
"Pigwidgeon," Hermione said clearly.  
  
Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged, "She was having trouble coming up with a password."  
  
The painting swung away from the wall, and the bright interior of the Gryffindor common room greeted them. As strange and unpredictable as Hogwarts could be, it was always good to be home. 


	17. Lightning Crashes

Chapter 13  
  
Midnight. September second. Holly tapped her wristwatch and grumbled. Oh, the watch was lovely. Sirius had given it to her as a belated birthday present, explaining that her old digital watch wouldn't work at Hogwarts. Too much magic in the air apparently caused Muggle electronics to go haywire. No, she was grumbling because the evening had come and passed, and not only had she not met Harry, she didn't even know when she would be meeting him at all.  
  
The sleek face of the watch caught a brief flash of lightning, one of many such flashes, and Holly gazed back out at the storm. The light showers of the evening had broken into a torrential downpour, complete with wind gusts and thunder. The storm buffeted trees along the edge of the Dark Forest and kicked up waves on the surface of the lake. Had she not promised Dumbledore that she wouldn't leave the castle, she would be outside right then, letting the cold rain drown out her frustration.  
  
She clenched her fists and slammed her left hand down onto the windowsill. The motion disturbed Seymore, who was twined around her right wrist, apparently sleeping.  
  
The serpent raised her head. [What's wrong?]  
  
Seymore hadn't spoken to Holly since that first morning at Lupin's house. This time, however, Holly was only briefly surprised by the unexpected conversation. "Just frustrated I suppose."  
  
[Why?] The question was so innocent.  
  
Holly glanced back over her shoulder at the empty room. There was nobody else to whom she could speak. Sirius had left her to her privacy hours ago when her agitation had put socializing very low on her list of priorities. Dumbledore had been pleasant enough when he'd spoken to her after the feast, but the dialogue had been brief and rushed. It was the first day of school. He had other responsibilities aside from answering a young woman's questions. When could she see Harry? Soon, possibly tomorrow, but not tonight. Sirius had tried to talk to her after that, but she hadn't felt like talking. Now, she wished she hadn't been so hasty when she'd asked him to leave.  
  
"I want to see my cousin, but they won't let me," she finally answered the waiting snake.  
  
[Why not?]  
  
"I don't really know." She turned her back to the rain pelting against the window and began pacing through her small but comfortable private suite. Illuminated by soft candlelight, a setting such as this would normally have put her at ease, a comfortable retreat from the rest of the world. As it was, she hardly noticed. "Dumbledore said that Harry and I have some sort of bond. I'm sure he's right about that, but he almost acts as though he's afraid of it. I don't understand why."  
  
[Will you tell me about it?]  
  
Holly hid her chagrin. She was confiding her biggest worry in a snake. Well, what did she have to loose? "Dumbledore said the closer Harry and I get, in terms of distance, the stronger the bond would become."  
  
[Is that such a bad thing?]  
  
Holly frowned. "I wouldn't think so. I mean, think about it this way. I've never had much of a family, and I prefer to keep only a few select friends. I guess I prefer it that way. Too many people would drive me mad, but still . . ."  
  
[I understand. Go on.]  
  
She sat down on the edge of her bed with a deep sigh. "When you are so particular about the people you choose for company, each family member or friend is a vital part of your world. Imagine how it would feel to suddenly find that you have a cousin you never knew about?"  
  
Seymore turned her glittering eyes towards Holly. [I'd suppose it would feel pretty good.]  
  
"And then you find out that he looks a bit like you. People keep remarking about the striking similarities in the way you react to things, how you look, and how impressive the comparison is."  
  
[Even more intriguing.]  
  
"Yup. And then, you find that you have some sort of strange magical bond that ties you together. After years of living fairly alone, can you imagine how that must feel?"  
  
[No. But I'll guess it must be incredible.]  
  
"Right," she nodded. "And then . . . try being told that you're not allowed to meet him. Not yet."  
  
Seymore coiled more tightly around Holly's wrist, as though trying to give her a serpentine version of a hug. [That would probably be pretty awful. Why are they doing that?]  
  
"That's the part I still don't think I understand." She leaned forward and rubbed her temples with her left hand. "I feel like I'm thinking in circles. Okay. Dumbledore said that if the bond between Harry and me were to reach its full potential, Voldemort might become aware of it. Apparently, he has some sort of bond to Harry as well."  
  
[Who is Voldemort? I feel as though I should know that name.]  
  
"Evil wizard. Likes to kill people. Hell-bent on world domination. Not the most pleasant chap."  
  
[I guess not.]  
  
Holly blew her breath out slowly through pursed lips. "Some of the blighters who work for him are apparently responsible for burning down my house." She intentionally didn't mention her father. "Another few tried their hand at me. And then, fourteen years ago. . ." she paused and swallowed.  
  
[Yes?]  
  
"He tried to kill Harry. Voldemort himself, that is. He managed to kill Harry's parents and my mum, but he didn't manage to kill Harry. He thinks Harry has this ridiculous power that he wants. They call it the 'Mind Touch.' It even sounds odd. Anyway, Voldemort will stop at nothing to kill Harry, not only for this power but also out of some insane vendetta. Problem is, I'm the one who apparently has the Mind Touch." She growled to herself, "Not that I want it. It's doing a fine job of making life difficult."  
  
[And if Voldemort becomes aware of this bond, he might become aware of the both of you. What exactly does this bond do?]  
  
Holly stared across the room at a candle on the mantle and squinted at it, concentrating. "So far, I've been able to sense Harry. It seems like that's all." She took a deep breath. "But then, maybe not. Maybe I'm picking up bits of his power too."  
  
[That's curious. Can you give me an example?]  
  
"Well, I could never talk to you before. This is going to sound ridiculous, but perhaps Harry can talk to snakes. Now that I'm in the same building as him, maybe I'm picking up that ability." She looked down at Seymore. "No, that's ludicrous."  
  
[Maybe, but maybe not.]  
  
Holly shrugged. "So, what would that have to do with it? With why I can't see Harry?"  
  
Seymore seemed to be considering this, swinging her head back and forth slowly. After a moment's pause, she answered. [If by some chance you are indeed beginning to share some of Harry's abilities through this bond, that means Harry might also be sharing this power of yours that Voldemort wants. If Voldemort has some sort of bond with Harry . . . and they suspect that Voldemort may become aware of the bond between you and Harry . . . what would happen if the power of the Mind Touch were to bleed over to Voldemort?]  
  
Something cold and hard seemed to grab Holly's heart in her chest, knocking the wind out of her. She sat there, stunned, trying not to choke on her thoughts. If Seymore was right, it was no wonder Dumbledore didn't want to bring the two of them together. It didn't make her feel any better that she hadn't gotten to see Harry, but it made sense. There was a reason. Problem was, that reason terrified her.  
  
Holly squinted at Seymore warily. "You're just too bloody smart, you know that?"  
  
Seymore bobbed her head. [Thanks, I think.]  
  
"Don't mention it. In fact, don't mention any of this."  
  
[What do you mean?]  
  
Holly shook her head, which was now spinning madly. She needed to think this out on her own, not explain the potential implications of this new revelation to a snake. "I'm going for a walk." She held out her right hand to the surface of the bed. "Alone."  
  
Seymore slowly, begrudgingly, untwined herself from Holly's wrist and coiled up on the mattress. [Certainly. Just do be careful.]  
  
Holly pulled her cloak from a hook by the door. "Yes mum," she said, sarcastically. "I'm only going for a stroll around the castle to think. What could possibly happen?"  
  
Seymore swung her head back and forth, chiding her.  
  
"Oh stop that. You're acting like Bram. Wonder where that crazy bird is. Well, I'll see you later." She wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and let herself out into the hallway, closing the door behind her with a soft click.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
"Harry? Are you going to bed anytime tonight?"  
  
"Yes, Ron," had come the exasperated reply. Harry left his spot at the window and rolled into his four-poster bed, drawing the curtains tightly around him.  
  
That had been several hours ago. Since then, he had tossed and turned, punched his pillow, and even tried reading a chapter of his History of Magic text. Nothing was bringing him any closer to sleep. It wasn't normal for him to be restless like this, but hell, he was jumpy tonight. For some unknown reason, he had been expecting something unusual to happen that evening, but regardless of expectations, it hadn't come.  
  
He could hear the thunder continue to crash outside, see the flashes of lightning through the breaks in the curtains. If anything, the rain was only pounding harder on the window than it had before, trying desperately to get in. Harry, for one, would have loved to get outside instead.  
  
The evening had been perfectly normal, as far as the first day of school was ever normal. No Triwizard Tournaments. No escaped convicts threatening the wizard world. No freakishly bizarre Defense Against the Dark Arts professors. Best yet, no scar burnings or signs of evil wizards lurking . . . well, Malfoy excluded. Harry should be pleased with the sheer lack of eventfulness, but no, he was Harry Potter. Something was supposed to go wrong. That's just he way it was, correct? Something absolutely insane had to kick off the school year. It was tradition at this point. It was almost eerie that nothing had happened.  
  
Now, instead of enjoying the relative quiet of the moment, he was practically waiting for something to happen, counting the eventless seconds between lightning strikes, lying flat on his back, eyes wide opened in the darkness. He blinked. The hell if he was going to wait lying down.  
  
Harry tossed his blanket aside and whipped back his curtains. His hand scrambled frantically across his night stand for his glasses and he jammed them onto his face. A quick check around the room confirmed that Ron, Dean, and Seamus were all dead asleep, and Neville was snoring. Feeling a thrill of excitement, he grabbed his jumper and pulled it roughly over his head. As quietly as humanly possible, he slipped out of bed and flipped open the cover of his trunk.  
  
He felt as though something had been calling to him all evening, egging at him, and he had just recognized the call. Where it came from, it didn't matter. The tension that had kept him awake all evening seemed to be relieved by the sudden burst of action, and he wasn't about to bottle it up now. His hands finally found the silky smooth edges of his invisibility cloak and, heart pounding, he gently drew it out from underneath the more mundane contents of his trunk.  
  
Harry whirled the cloak over his head and settled it smoothly into place. With one last glance around the room, he let himself out into the stairway.  
  
The common room was deserted at that hour of the night. The fireplace held nothing but embers and the candles were burning low in their holders. Harry tiptoed across the floor, trembling with unplaced anticipation, completely wrapped in his own thoughts, when a scolding "meow" almost caused him to jump out of his skin.  
  
"Crookshanks!" he hissed. "Go away!"  
  
The cat did nothing of the sort. Instead, he marched directly between Harry and the portrait of the Fat Lady and sat down, his eyes glowing eerily in the dark room. What was it with cats who seemed to be able to see through invisibility cloaks? Mrs. Norris, and now Crookshanks. At least Hermione's cat wasn't about to go ratting him out to Filch, but it was still bloody annoying.  
  
"Crookshanks, I am not in the mood for this. Get out of my way!"  
  
The cat's tail swished once, but he didn't move.  
  
"I'm not causing any trouble, I'm just going for a walk."  
  
Crookshanks lay down in place, still staring at him.  
  
"Ridiculous cat," he mumbled to himself.  
  
Sidestepping the nosey feline, Harry climbed to the portrait hole and cautiously pushed the frame away from the wall. He poked his head out. Not a sign of Filch, Mrs. Norris, or even Peeves. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, eased himself out of the hole, and settled the portrait back into place.  
  
He was just about to step off when it struck him that he had no clue where he was going. Up until that point, everything had made perfect sense. Of course he was going for a walk. He had to go somewhere, and now was the time to go. At least, that was the nebulous thought that had pulled him so definitively out of his bed, past Crookshanks, and into the hallway. He had never stopped to ask himself where that somewhere was. The strange pull was as strong as it had been upstairs, if not stronger.  
  
No more questions; now was the time for action. Harry took a step away from the portrait. Then another. It felt right. Even if this was leading him to some sort of disaster, he couldn't have turned around if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to. Almost breathless with an unnamed excitement, he padded down the corridor as fast as he could without alerting the entire population of Hogwarts. Something was about to burst wide open. He could feel it.  
  
He crept through the corridor, down the main staircase, and past the entrance of the great hall. Every few steps, Harry saw his world illuminated by yet another brilliant flash of lightning assaulting the windows. There didn't seem to be a sign of Filch or his stupid cat anywhere, and it didn't cross Harry's mind that there was any chance it could happen. Nothing seemed able to distract his mind from the incessant pull guiding him along. The further he went, the more he was certain he was on the right track. Right track to what? It didn't matter. Whatever it might be, he could have sworn by one thing. There would be an answer.  
  
That's it. It would be an answer to unasked questions. A confirmation that he wasn't losing his mind. Some reassurance that reality still existed. An answer to dreams and nightmares alike.  
  
As he walked, Harry became less and less aware that he was traveling at all. His feet carried him of their own accord as a confusing myriad of thoughts occupied more and more of his mind. The boundary between dreams and reality seemed to blur. He was back in his dream, standing before the Mirror of Erised. The disturbing images of birds and Hogwarts and Voldemort's eyes were nowhere to be seen. Through the smooth surface of the mirror there appeared the vague outline of a shadow. There was his answer, and it was growing clearer by the moment. He could almost make out the words on the frame.  
  
//Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafre oyt on wohsi.//  
  
Holly reached up and traced the strange writing on the frame with a curious finger. By the dim illumination of the room and the frequent lightning strikes, she could read the whole thing. The lettering was in reverse, but there wasn't a shred of doubt in her mind that this was the mirror that had graced her dreams. It made sense. In her dream, she'd had the distinct impression that she had been on the inside of the mirror. Why would the writing on a mirror be written so that one could only read it from inside the mirror? That didn't matter right now. This mirror, this place . . . this is where she had seen Harry.  
  
Her worries and realizations about the dangers of the bond with her cousin were forgotten. There was only the here and now; this strange blending of dream and reality. She couldn't fully convince herself it was real, that she wasn't dreaming again, but the rough lettering on the frame felt solid under her fingertip, and she certainly hadn't been able to fall asleep that night. Holly took a deep breath and stepped backwards, centering herself on the mirror. Her reflection was the same as always; messy hair, rumpled clothes, and glasses, but behind her likeness, something much more extraordinary was happening. The room's shadows hazed and blurred, swirling like a mist from behind the corners of the frame. It wasn't real, she told herself, but at the same time, it was more real than anything else had ever been.  
  
From the deepest part of the mist, Holly could see a shadow beginning to form. Her own image dissipated. Her eyes, and every shred of her attention, were completely focused on the shadow. The formless outline began to solidify, becoming the image that had been burned into her memory ever since she had seen it in her dream.  
  
Without realizing the action until she was already halfway through it, Holly found herself stepping towards the mirror, hand outstretched. Behind the surface of the glass, another hand moved to meet hers . . .  
  
And she stopped. There was someone in the room, watching her. Her heart thundering in her chest, she turned, slowly. The room was empty.  
  
No, it wasn't. She was sure of it. She knew who was there. Somehow, she managed to force one word out of her rapidly tightening throat.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Nothing happened. Then, out of empty space, she heard the sound of a strangled gasp. No more than five feet in front of her, the air itself seemed to wrinkle, then flow into something solid. The silhouette of a silvery cloak flashed to life as another lightning strike lit the room. The cloak dropped away, and a familiar pair of eyes stared back into hers.  
  
His voice was choked and hesitant. "You're . . . you're Holly."  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, rubbed his temples, and yawned widely. Every minute he could spare away from his usual Headmaster duties had been devoted to myriad of tasks relating to the events of the summer. There were letters from anxious parents wanting assurance that if anything were to happen, their children would be sent home immediately. More disturbing were the "official" documents from Malfoy's sect of the new ministry, dictating a series of new "highly recommended" regulations. However, possibly the most strenuous task involved the stacks of books and parchments spread across his desk. There were old texts and memoirs, letters and records, all serving in a fruitless search for clues regarding the current location of one seemingly insignificant artifact.  
  
Remus and Sirius had been able to help him earlier, but the day had been as long for them as for him. Both of them had finally fallen asleep over their parchments, and Dumbledore had awoken them softly only to urge them off to bed. They would be needing all the sleep they could get. Dealing with Malfoy on one end would be tricky enough, but an equally tricky, albeit less malevolent, was sitting much closer to home.  
  
Hogwarts was indeed the best protected location in Britain, possibly the world, with many layers of magical shielding. If there was any place where Harry and Holly could safely meet, this was it. Here, they stood a chance of remaining protected from Voldemort. Dumbledore was well aware that the more he were to indicate to either of them that they were being intentionally protected, the more they would protest.  
  
Not that he could blame them, but tomorrow, when he planned to introduce them, he would be able to explain the whole thing. He would be able to press on them the grave possibility that the Voldemort could indeed glean the Mind Touch through his bond with Harry. Most importantly, he would also be able to keep an eye on them for any sign of magical shock.  
  
Dumbledore had no idea exactly how strong this bond would prove to be when it became fully manifested, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Harry was already a very strong wizard, and according to Remus, Holly had a fair deal of potential herself, once she trained up a bit. The kind of magical surge that could possibly occur when they met was mind-boggling, and it had a good chance of overwhelming them completely. It was probably best that they each had a good night's sleep and be allowed to settle in before springing this on them.  
  
Leaning heavily on his elbows, Dumbledore took a deep breath and listened to the persistent tapping of the rain on the window, letting the moment's peace soothe his mind. Funny thing though, the tapping of the rain almost sounded solid against the glass, as if someone were knocking.  
  
Dumbledore glanced at the window. At first, he saw nothing aside from the blackness of the storm... until a sudden flash of lightning silhouetted a dark blob on the sill. In fact, the blob was shaped distinctly like a bird.  
  
Jumping out of his seat, and almost knocking the chair over in the process, Dumbledore rushed to the window and opened it as quickly as he could. Bram burst in the room in a flurry of waterlogged feathers, splashing Dumbledore and everything else within ten feet. She barely made it to the edge of the desk under the weight of the extra water and landed heavily, creating a rapidly spreading puddle across the parchments, as she began to clack anxiously.  
  
"Easy there, my feathered friend," Dumbledore greeted the raven with a tired smile. He waved his wand casually at his desk, drying both the bird and the parchments. "What is it you're trying to tell me?"  
  
Bram ruffled her feathers briefly, pleasantly surprised at no longer being soaked, then began to clack more clearly and systematically. Fawkes, in the meantime, jumped off his perch and landed on the desk next to the nervous raven. Bobbing her head and hopping in agitation, Bram relayed her message to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded slowly as she clacked, taking in the information, when suddenly, his face fell. He looked up at the ceiling and took a brief, steadying breath. "Great Merlin's Beard," he whispered.  
  
In the next instant, the tired wizard became a whirlwind. "My goodness, thank you, Bram," he blurted. He reached into a small cup on the mantle and threw just a bit too much powder into the fire before calling out, "Remus! Sirius! Meet me in front of the Great Hall, and hurry!"  
  
He turned sharply back towards Bram. "Please, I invite you to stay in my office, out of this miserable weather. I will be back soon, I hope."  
  
Bram merely bobbed her head, accepting the invitation as she watched Dumbledore pull open the door to his office and ran down the stairs. Fawkes moved a bit closer to Bram and placed his neck comfortingly over the top of her head. Still watching the door, Bram sidestepped in towards the phoenix, accepting the offered reassurance. For a bird, this was far too much stress.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Somewhere in his brain, Harry vaguely registered the fact that the image before him was not an illusion, nor a trick of the shadows, nor some bizarre dream. He had most certainly not fallen asleep that night, and was not lying in his four-poster bed, caught in some delirium-induced vision. Had he been less distracted, he might have briefly wondered how on earth he had arrived at the one room in Hogwarts where he might find this young woman. Possibly, he would have questioned the reason the Mirror of Erised was at the school. He might have even reminded himself to breathe. As it was, all he could think to do was to stutter, "You're real . . ."  
  
Holly's mouth opened slightly, searching for a response. After weeks of having her mind fixed on one thing and one thing only, she hadn't even considered what she was going to say to her young cousin. Nodding, she asked, "Nobody told you?"  
  
"I . . . I saw you. In a dream, that is. I asked, but Mr. Weasley didn't want to tell me anything." He sounded ridiculous, and wondered if what he was saying was making sense to Holly.  
  
Her eyes widened. "You know Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"He's my best friend's dad." Harry tipped his head to the side, trying to ignore the fact that none of this felt quite real. "Wait. How do you know him?"  
  
"Er . . . Ministry attack." She hesitated. "I got caught in it."  
  
Harry's eyebrows knitted together. "You were there?"  
  
"I barely got out alive."  
  
"You were caught in the fire," Harry whispered in a detached tone of voice. His face was illuminated by yet another flash of lightning. "The smoke. I smelled the smoke."  
  
"How did you . . . ?" she started, before the answer hit her on its own. "You felt it. It's as though you were connected to me."  
  
"It's the Mind Touch, isn't it?" A little light was starting to burn in the back of his mind. "That was you."  
  
"They told you that much, but they didn't tell you about me." She could feel something beginning to buzz in her head. "But you knew. And you knew my name."  
  
He took a cautious step towards Holly, as though any sudden movements would cause this fantastic vision to burst. "I heard it, in my mind, from Mr. Weasley, I think. He must have been . . ."  
  
". . . thinking about me," she finished for him, taking a step closer for herself. "And you were already curious, because you had already had seen me in a dream . . ."  
  
". . . with the Mirror of Erised." The strange burning in the back of his mind was growing stronger, but he didn't shy away from it. He didn't want to. "I saw you, in the Mirror. I thought it was me at first, but . . ."  
  
". . . it wasn't." The buzzing turned into a tingling sensation racing up and down her spine. "I saw you too. I think we were sharing the dream, but looking at each other, from opposite sides of the mirror."  
  
Neither of them quite being aware of the action, they had almost closed the gap between them.  
  
Harry blinked a couple of times. "You were watching me at the Sorting Ceremony. You've been trying to reach me all this time, haven't you?"  
  
"Yes," she answered, beginning to choke up. "Even in the dream, it was like you were really there. It almost felt like I could reach through the mirror and touch you. I still can't convince myself this is real."  
  
"It feels like that dream. I think I saw you reach for the mirror, from the other side." He stopped short, his faced pinched. Slowly, he lifted his hand and held it, palm facing forward towards Holly.  
  
Common sense meant nothing now. The realizations Holly had made while talking to Seymore flew out the window and were washed away by the torrential downpour. Images from the dream and her own curiosity had taken over. Her hand came up inches away from Harry's. Between their palms, a strange sort of heat was building, not burning or unpleasant, but instead creating a strange sort of pull.  
  
Peripheral vision disappeared. The room disappeared. All that remained was a swirling mist and the two people stuck in the center of the hazy vortex, locked eye to eye, as though trying to find something in each other something unnamed that they'd been searching for in themselves. The heat became tangible, spreading up their arms, glowing vaguely, and the air around them began to hum. From somewhere beyond the mist, they almost heard the sound of thundering footsteps, and men's voices yelling, but the sounds didn't reach past their ears.  
  
Their hands came together, and a sound like a canon went off in their minds. Everything finally disappeared in a wall of blinding whiteness. Through the wall, Harry thought he heard Holly yelling, or was it himself? Holly found herself dropping to the floor, or was she watching Harry fall? The line between them had blurred, as had the line between awareness and oblivion.  
  
The stone floor should have been hard, but it had become blanketed with the blazing whiteness. Hands shook them, and frantic voices called out, but those weren't real. What was real and immediate was impact of this turbulent envelopment, in which the brilliant whiteness was slowly fading to grey. The shadows of the room crept in on the two small forms lying on the floor, shrouding them and finally encasing them in darkness.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
A/N: There you have it. You all wanted to know why they were being kept apart. There's your answer. Trust in Phoenix. Everything shall be explained in time.  
  
For those of you who are reading my new story, thank you for the support and for understanding the delay with the current TPL chapter. For those of you not reading the new story, but who are curious, feel free to access it through my ff.net profile. It's called "Eclipse," and I'll warn you right now, it's slash, but it is NOT smut, will NOT be explicit and exposing, and involves nothing that would even remotely resemble NC-17. The only reason I had considered rating it "R" was due to some violence and a bit of swearing, but in reality, it's only PG-13.  
  
That fic was the reason for the major delay with this one. I thank you for your patience, for the feedback you've given me, and everything else. Chapter 14 should be coming soon. As always, I appreciate all reviews, and if you have any sort of question regarding this story or others, leave me your e-mail address, and I WILL get back to you immediately. 


	18. Aftermath

Chapter 14  
  
Harry became aware of the fact that there were people surrounding him long before he actually realized he was awake. Through a thick, buzzing headache, bits of consciousness started to work their way through to his brain. His body felt absolutely numb, and he didn't much feel like fighting the numbness. All he wanted was to go back to sleep.  
  
Gradually, the buzzing began to fade away, and several voices met his ears, although they seemed muffled and slurred together. One of them sounded like Dumbledore, but that made no sense. Why would Dumbledore be in Gryffindor tower? Was something wrong? Had he overslept? He couldn't be late for class on the first day of school!  
  
Still, the numbness in his body was trying to pull him back to sleep. He needed more sleep. He hadn't rested well all night, being plagued by the strangest dream, almost like that other one from a few weeks ago. So strange . . . but he couldn't think about that now. First thing after breakfast, was double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, then Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon. He had to get up...  
  
However, as soon as Harry tried to move, he wished he hadn't. The attempt caused his head to explode with pain. He tried to moan, anything to ease the tension, but he couldn't seem to move his lips. His mouth felt like cotton, and none of his muscles seemed to be responding.  
  
One of the muffled voices spoke louder, just over his head it seemed. "Madam Pomfrey! I think he's waking up."  
  
Madam Pomfrey? What was he doing in the infirmary? Somewhere, his mind registered that there was a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.  
  
"Harry? Come on, Harry. Give me a sign here." The tone of voice was even, but laced with definite anxiety.  
  
Harry tried to reply to the voice, to ask what the hell was going on, but all he could get past his cottony tongue was a completely unintelligible moan.  
  
The hand moved to his shoulder. "Harry, it's Sirius. Please, snap out of it."  
  
"Mr. Black," came Madam Pomfrey's unmistakable clipped tone. "Rushing him will do no good."  
  
Harry would have loved to tell her that he also had all intent of rushing. However, his body had other plans. Slowly, painfully, he forced his eyelids open to see the blurry features of his godfather.  
  
"Merlin's beard, thank god," Sirius breathed.  
  
"Relax, Sirius," Dumbledore spoke from somewhere in the background. "No need to excite him any more than necessary."  
  
Sirius was paying no attention. "Can you hear me, Harry? Please, say something."  
  
"Siri . . ."  
  
Sirius looked as though he were about to burst. He grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed hard enough that the pressure actually broke through the numbness encasing Harry's limbs. "Harry, god, don't ever scare me like that again! When we found you, I didn't know if you were alive."  
  
Something solid finally filtered through faint buzz still surrounding Harry's brain. The events of the previous night hadn't been a dream. He tried to roll onto his side, but his body still wasn't responding to his demands. He blinked twice, forced as deep a breath as he could take, and said, "What happened?" The words were terribly slurred.  
  
"Magical shock," Madam Pomfrey's impatient voice called out from somewhere. "And just about the worse cases of it I've seen in all my days. You're fortunate your eyes didn't pop out of their sockets," she ranted. "Of course, I should know by now to expect no less from a Potter. Someday, I declare, I'll figure out how to keep you away from my infirmary."  
  
That hadn't been what Harry had meant. "No . . . Siri . . . what happened?" he forced the question between weak breaths.  
  
Sirius twisted his lips and glanced up as though asking someone's permission to give an answer. His head came back down, but he didn't look at Harry's face. "We probably should have told you weeks ago, but there was already so much going on, we didn't want to make it any harder on you..."  
  
"Holly."  
  
Sirius finally looked Harry in the eye. Slowly, he nodded.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
Dumbledore answered him. "She's here, Harry."  
  
"Is she okay?" He tried to twist around, but only succeeded in causing his ears to ring. He sank back into the pillow and closed his eyes. A cool cloth pressed against his forehead, and gradually, the ringing subsided.  
  
"I had a dream about her," he said quietly, not opening his eyes, concentrating on forming the words. "It was a couple of weeks ago."  
  
"I am not surprised, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Not surprised at all."  
  
Harry mused at the peculiar reply. "Who is she?"  
  
This time, a new voice from the across the room answered him. "She's your cousin."  
  
Harry's eyes popped open. "But I thought I had no other relatives." He was beginning to feel a hot flash of resentment pushing away the remnants of the numbness. Why would they keep something like this from him?  
  
Sirius released his hand - he'd forgotten he'd been holding it in the first place - and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "We didn't know either, Harry. Nobody knew."  
  
"How could you not?" That didn't make sense. He made a desperate attempt to sit up, but was hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness. He fell back, coughing breathlessly.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. "Will you please just lie back down?"  
  
"I already am," he said weakly.  
  
Sirius choked back a laugh, and Madam Pomfrey glowered. "Think it's funny, do you? You don't want me to have to sedate your godson, Mr. Black?"  
  
Harry mentally balked. He had just woken up. "You wouldn't . . .?" he begged.  
  
"Oh, just watch me!" she snapped irritably, brandishing something that, even without his glasses, Harry recognized as a needle.  
  
The nausea twisted into a solid knot in Harry's stomach. "Okay," he conceded, "I'll lie still. Just don't stick that thing anywhere near me. I hate needles."  
  
Madam Pomfrey folded her arms, waggling the syringe menacingly. "Potter, for someone who has battled dragons, done swan-dives from broomsticks, fought maverick bludgers, and gone head-to-head with You-Know-Who, you're NOT going to tell me you're afraid of needles."  
  
Harry nodded meekly.  
  
Madam Pomfrey grinned like a gambler about to reveal a royal flush. "Well, don't worry about this one, Mr. Potter. All I'd have to do is put it in the line that's already in your arm. Now, maybe you'll think twice before you land yourself in my infirmary again." She nodded in satisfaction at the horrified look on Harry's face, then turned away to go about her work.  
  
Harry would have preferred not to look, but he couldn't help it. Even without his glasses, he could just see something shiny hanging above his head, and a clear tube running down from it and disappearing behind the edge of the blankets. He turned away quickly. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he moaned to Sirius.  
  
"Well, that's what happens when you go getting yourself into situations like this, young man," said the unknown voice from across the room. "If you had stayed in Gryffindor tower like you were supposed to, you wouldn't be in the infirmary right now with a needle in your arm." The person speaking walked into the edge of Harry's peripheral vision, dragging a chair. "While you were out cold, we couldn't get you to swallow any potions to treat the shock, and believe me, you needed it."  
  
He swung the chair next to Harry's bed. "You were in a pretty miserable state when we found you." Finally, the person sat down and leaned forward so that Harry could make out the face of Remus Lupin. The face softened into a smile. "How're you feeling, Harry?"  
  
"Fine," he lied. "Can you just get that thing out of my arm?"  
  
Lupin shook his head and ruffled Harry's hair patronizingly. "Oh, it's not that bad, Harry."  
  
"Speak for yourself," he mumbled, trying to bury the queasiness. "Is Holly okay?"  
  
Sirius sighed and leaned against the edge of the bed. "We just can't get you to relax, can we? She's fine."  
  
"Is she awake?"  
  
"Not yet, but I'm sure she'll come around soon."  
  
Harry accepted that answer for meantime. He had other questions pulling at the edge of his thoughts. "How did . . . what . . . why did all that happen last night, Sirius?  
  
"I think," Dumbledore cut in, "that this would best be thoroughly explained when you have recovered more.  
  
Harry felt his heart sink. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.  
  
However, Dumbledore wasn't finished speaking. "For now, here is a basic explanation. Do you remember when I told you that Voldemort had been looking for a spy with the Mind touch?"  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"And he traced it, mistakenly, to your grandfather?"  
  
Harry nodded again, now becoming decidedly uneasy.  
  
Dumbledore was too far away for Harry to see his face, but he supposed it must be very solemn right now, as the Headmaster's voice dropped a notch. "Voldemort was closer to the truth than we could have imagined. You and Holly have the same grandfather on your father's side of the family. However, her grandmother was the spy Voldemort was seeking. Holly saved some love letters between your grandfather and her grandmother, and there is no questioning it. Her mother must have been conceived just before the war separated them, and her grandmother went into hiding. This whole mystery surrounding you seems to be more of a family affair then we had ever expected."  
  
Perhaps Dumbledore had been right, thought Harry as his head began to buzz again. Maybe he should have waited; this was a lot to absorb. Still, he had another question. "But what . . .?"  
  
"You and Holly have a sort of magical bond that was formed when you were quite young. I will explain it more thoroughly later, but suffice it to say, as of this summer, she knew about you. You being her only remaining family, she was determined to meet you, but for several reasons, we decided it was best to keep you apart until you were safe at Hogwarts, and we could introduce you under more cautious conditions."  
  
Harry grumbled as he realized, yet again, his life was being toyed with like a marionette, and everyone else seemed to be pulling the strings.  
  
Dumbledore continued, "The closer in distance you and she were, the stronger the bond became. That is why you seemed to be 'picking up' things from her this summer. When you touched her hand, you experienced an uncontrolled magical power surge, and it threw you into shock."  
  
Harry closed his eyes. "That's it, huh?"  
  
"In a nutshell," Sirius replied.  
  
"So wait," he opened his eyes, squinting at Sirius. "I'm her last remaining relative? What happened to her mum and dad?"  
  
Sirius pressed his lips together and met Harry's eyes with a pained expression. All he could do was shake his head.  
  
Harry didn't need the full story, nor did he want it just then. His godfather's gesture was enough to confirm that it could only be one thing. "Voldemort," he hissed. Sirius reached for his hand, but Harry pushed it away. He was absolutely fuming.  
  
"Harry . . ." Sirius started, before the glare in Harry's eye cut him off.  
  
Turning his eyes to the ceiling, Harry let ghastly images of the only memories he had of his parents flood through his mind. He relished in the fury they elicited. The anger felt hot and real, coursing through his body and pushing aside the last traces of haziness from him. Voldemort, ruining people's lives. He couldn't be satisfied with just Harry's parents, but apparently also an aunt and uncle he had never known. Destroyed not only his life, but the lives of countless others, and the life of his cousin. Harry's rage grew to the breaking point. His fists formed tight balls, his eyes squeezed shut. Like a wounded animal, a pained yell ripped from his throat...  
  
Immediately, his outburst was followed by a complete resurgence of the buzzing headache he'd had upon awakening. He recoiled, trying to shrink away from the pain.  
  
Sirius was on his feet, but he wasn't looking at Harry. "Pomfrey! She's awake!"  
  
Sirius stayed by Harry's side, but Remus rushed across the room. Harry forced the headache back and followed Lupin with his eyes. He was able to make out the image of someone tossing about on a nearby cot. "Sirius, give me my glasses," Harry demanded.  
  
"Harry, I don't think . . ."  
  
"Damn it, Sirius, just give me my bloody glasses!"  
  
His glasses were placed softly on his face. The scene came into focus at the same moment as a wave of confusion and panic hit him. A split second later, he came to the shocking realization that the emotion wasn't his, but belonged to Holly.  
  
Eyes wide open, she was moving about chaotically, although obviously weak, refusing to lie still, even as Remus was trying desperately to her calm down. She appeared to be trying to say something, but still didn't have the motor control. Harry's gut wrenched as he watched it, wanting to be able to do something.  
  
"Holly, please!" Remus was saying, trying to hold her down at the shoulders. "You'll only make it worse! Lie still!" He looked up. "Poppy, she's not listening."  
  
Harry, in the meantime, was playing with a faint thread of thought running through the back of his mind. Something about Voldemort. As out-of- control as she appeared, Holly was trying to tell them something about Voldemort. "Sirius," he said slowly, but his godfather was paying no attention. "Siri . . ." he was cut off as the sense of panic from Holly magnified at least tenfold.  
  
Madam Pomfrey had gone to Holly's bedside and was now standing over her, checking the measurement of the sedative she was about to administer. Holly was looking terrified and only began to writhe more desperately, and Harry knew why. She was disoriented, couldn't see clearly, was in pain, and to top it off, here was an unidentified person standing over her with a needle. Not the most comfortable of situations. Suddenly, Holly's head whipped towards Harry, and even though Harry was sure she could barely see him, he was just as certain that she knew exactly who he was, and she was begging for help.  
  
Harry forced himself up on one elbow and yelled, "Stop that!"  
  
The room came to a dead silence. Madam Pomfrey lowered her hands slowly and stared at Harry in surprise. "Potter, if she keeps thrashing about, she'll aggravate her condition. You, of all people, should care enough . . ."  
  
"She doesn't want you to!" he interrupted staunchly, but he wasn't looking at Pomfrey as he spoke. He was staring straight at Holly. "She was just scared. Give her a minute. She has a question . . . about Voldemort."  
  
Remus took a cautious step towards Harry, whose eyes were still locked on his cousin. "Harry . . .?"  
  
"Yes, she told me," he replied, before Remus had even asked the question. He closed his eyes and sank back into the pillows, but his body remained alert. Holly, for her part, mirrored Harry; body tense, eyes closed, not moving save for her ribcage shaking in shallow, rapid breaths. Gradually, her breathing slowed as well.  
  
"Harry?" Sirius rested a cautious hand on Harry's arm.  
  
"She was panicking because she was having a dream about Voldemort. It was about the night my parents died, the same thing I was thinking about a moment ago. It woke her up, and she remembered what happened last night." Harry's voice was soft and distanced, almost trance-like. "Before we met last night, she was talking to . . . " He gasped sharply and whispered, "She's a Parselmouth!" before resuming his neutral monologue. "Talking to Seymore, and realized you were worried that if we met, the Mind Touch would bleed over to Voldemort. She wants to know if that's true. She's worried about me."  
  
Harry opened his eyes, his glasses slightly askew against the pillow, and caught Dumbledore with a piercing stare. "Is that true? That Voldemort would get the Mind Touch through me?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "It appears we should never underestimate the resourcefulness of a Potter. Yes, that was a great concern. Within the walls of Hogwarts, however, there are enough magical barriers between you and Voldemort that it is unlikely."  
  
"I can't stay in Hogwarts forever," Harry said flatly.  
  
"We know that, Harry. That is why we were planning to spend time training you specifically in how to control the Mind Touch, and how to guard you, and that power, against Voldemort."  
  
With a sharp sigh of apparent relief, Holly finally relaxed under the blankets. Speaking very slowly, her words slurred as Harry's had been earlier, she said, "Thank you."  
  
Her eyes were still closed, but Harry felt certain she was aware of him smiling a silent, "You're welcome." It was then that a strange thought struck him. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, how would Voldemort get the Mind Touch through me? I don't have it, she does."  
  
"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore laughed softly. "You do. Well, in a sense. You no more have the Mind Touch than Holly is a Parselmouth, yet she spoke to her pet snake, did she not?"  
  
Harry's mouth fell open as he processed that new piece of information. "Through the bond."  
  
"Yes, Harry."  
  
Nuzzling against his pillow, Harry nodded, more to himself than to Dumbledore. Now that the room was silent, he became much more vividly aware of the soft voice speaking in the back of his mind, laced with a distinct tone of platonic affection.  
  
/You're pretty sharp, you know./ Holly's eyes came open, and she smiled softly.  
  
Without pausing to consider how foreign the whole experience was to him, Harry replied silently, /Not really. You were the one who figured it out./  
  
/Actually, Seymore did. Outwitted by a snake. Go figure./  
  
/Are you okay?/  
  
Holly rolled her eyes. /I'm fine. Don't worry about me./  
  
/Ha. Not likely./ Harry snorted.  
  
/You're as stubborn as a mule, aren't you?/ she smirked.  
  
/I can already tell that you're no better./ Harry laughed quietly at her.  
  
/You know, they're looking at us like we have two heads. Each./  
  
Harry glanced up at the adults standing around the room, all looking somewhat dumbfounded, except for Dumbledore, who was smiling in satisfaction.  
  
"I . . . er . . ." Harry stammered.  
  
"No, Harry," Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him. "It's quite alright."  
  
Harry nodded, then, barely realizing the question wasn't his, asked, "Can she have her glasses, please?"  
  
"Certainly, she may," Dumbledore said softly, then nodded to Remus.  
  
Remus reached across and settled the glasses on her face, but Holly only briefly peered through them at Harry before again closing her eyes. /I'm tired./  
  
Harry nodded. He wasn't feeling particularly energetic himself, but perhaps he might be able to catch the end of Herbology if he could convince Madam Pomfrey he was well enough to attend. He couldn't start the year behind everyone else on the first day. "Professor, did Herbology class already start? I'm sure missing that once won't be too terrible, but I really can't miss Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon and . . ."  
  
"Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey hollered from her working area. "Don't you even think about going anywhere until tomorrow! Believe me, I'll be just as happy to see you out of here as you will be to leave, but NOT until you've fully recovered!"  
  
"Besides, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Herbology is over, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts. In fact, it is nearly supper time."  
  
Harry felt his stomach lurch. He'd been unconscious for that long? Did his friends know where he was? "Ron! Hermione! They'll be worried sick!"  
  
He tried again to sit up, but Sirius held him down softly. "Harry, they know you're ok."  
  
"Did they come up here? What did you tell them?"  
  
Dumbledore answered. "Professor McGonagall informed them that you had taken ill after an episode with your scar, that you needed rest, and we would tell them when you were well enough for visitors."  
  
Harry wasn't sure what to argue with first. "I AM well enough for visitors! And you lied to my two best friends! Why did you do that?"  
  
Next to him, Sirius sighed deeply. "Harry, you didn't see yourself last night. I did. You were barely breathing. At first, I couldn't find a heartbeat. You've been pale as a ghost all night, and you've been unconscious for nearly sixteen hours. You have no real idea of how much of a jolt you took last night. I know you think you're fine, but for me, please, get some rest."  
  
Harry wanted to argue, but something in Sirius's voice stopped him. "Then why lie to my friends?"  
  
Sirius glanced upwards, and once again, Dumbledore supplied the response. "I know you trust your friends, Harry . . ."  
  
"Without a doubt," Harry said crossly.  
  
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "However, at the moment, I fear that not even Hogwarts is safe. Telling Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger would be perfectly acceptable, if I could be completely certain that such information would stop with them. However, there are always risks when one releases information."  
  
"Ron and Hermione would never tell my secrets!" Harry protested.  
  
"Not willingly, Harry. However, there are other ways of extracting information from people, and in these desperate times, there may even be people within these walls who would resort to such tactics. I will be able to explain more tomorrow, but please understand that the truth about both you and Holly is valuable and dangerous information. To expose that information to the wrong people could put both of you, and many others, in danger." He peered over his half-moon spectacles. "You do understand that, Harry?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes. "I understand it. I can even accept it. That doesn't mean I have to like it."  
  
"For now, that is all I ask. Well, that, and one other thing. Get some sleep. You need it."  
  
"Yes, professor," he said absently.  
  
"Good. Sirius, perhaps you should best leave your godson to rest and come get a spot of supper."  
  
Harry could feel Sirius shift beside him. "Yes, Professor, er, Dumbledore." His hand once again clasped Harry's arm. "I'll come back as soon as I can, Harry. Get some rest, please."  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes still closed. The hand on his arm squeezed once, and he heard footsteps retreating from the room.  
  
/I don't feel much like sleeping./ said the voice in the back of his mind.  
  
Harry opened one eye and grinned at the pair of dark eyes peeking back at him. /Neither do I./  
  
/I can't quite believe this./ Holly told him.  
  
/I know. I mean, you're here. You're real, not just some figment of my overactive imagination./  
  
/Who knows? I might be./ She winked.  
  
/Please. I spent the last month figuring I was just crazy. Don't make it any worse./ He blew out through pursed lips.  
  
/Oh, there's nothing wrong with a little insanity. I make it a point to put just a little craziness in everything I do. It keeps people guessing./ She laughed.  
  
Harry found himself laughing despite himself. /Oh my./  
  
"You two had best be getting some rest in there!" Madam Pomfrey called out to them. "Harry, don't make me bring in that sedative. Merlin help me, I will."  
  
"Yes Madam Pomfrey," they both answered her.  
  
Holly leaned back and closed her eyes. /I think I can at least pretend to sleep here. Last thing I want is to have her come back in here with that bloody sedative. I hate needles./  
  
Harry peered over at her in mild amusement. /Really now? Well, just don't look at your arm, then./  
  
/What?/ Her eyes snapped open, then squeezed shut almost as quickly. /Oh god, I think I'm gonna be sick./  
  
Harry sent her as comforting of a thought as he could, then settled against his own pillow and closed his eyes. As strange as the day had been, there was now one thing that had come of it, and nobody could take it away from him. Sirius was back, Holly was here. For the first time in his life, Harry had a family.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
A/N: Welcome back everyone! To everyone who has now read Order of the Phoenix, you all know why this story has now become somewhat awkward. It had been my intent to write a story that would be completely different from anything JKR would write, yet would be fully believable based on the first four books. Well, looks like I read minds or something, because there are some startling similarities between TPL and OotP which I had never expected. The similarities only become more apparent in later chapters. I've had this story outlined for months, and I do not wish to change the premises that I used to create this story. I had considered stopping, but I've had too many demands that I not quit on this story, and too many faithful readers. So, looks like I'm going to continue!  
  
Also, this last chapter here was written before the release of OotP, and had been posted on HP.com, but I decided not to post it here until after the book release. So, what you're reading here was written before I had read the real book. Everything that comes after this is written post-OotP, and I will be trying very hard not to mix things up. Go back through and see what's the same.  
  
Also, if you have only been reading the updates, you should probably also know that a lot of earlier chapters were revised over the past two months, as I had gotten a temporary beta-reader and touched up a few things. Some stuff in the prologue, particularly, had been improved. So, thank you to everyone who is still reading this, and the next piece will come soon! 


	19. Secrets

Chapter 15  
  
"Harry, you haven't touched your supper," Hermione fussed. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"  
  
"I'm perfectly fine, Hermione." Harry reached across the table for a piece of bread he wasn't particularly interested in eating.  
  
"Yeah, Hermione," Ron said, leaning on his elbows. "You've been brooding over him all day. He's not going to drop dead in front of us."  
  
Hermione, however, continued to monitor Harry as thought that was exactly what he was about to do. "How exactly did it happen again?"  
  
Harry cringed inwardly. The he hated lying to his friends, and he hated being forced to do it repeatedly. "I told you already. I couldn't sleep, so I thought maybe I could sneak to the owlry and send Sirius a letter. I was on my way back when my scar started burning, and I woke up in the hospital wing. Sirius said he found me."  
  
"This can't be good, Harry." Hermione frowned. "I don't think your scar has ever caused something this bad. You-know-who has got to be up to something. Oh, I hope everything is okay. There was nothing in the Daily Prophet this morning, so what could it be?"  
  
Ron sighed at Hermione's relentless rambling. "Just make sure you're healthy for next week, Harry. Quidditch season starts soon, you know." Ron's position as captain was by no means official until he actually made the team. In fact, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia still thought Harry was going to take the job. Still, Ron took his impending role very seriously, which was good. It made him easier to distract.  
  
Hermione, however, wasn't so easily thrown off. She twisted her lip, looking as though she didn't believe a word he said, but accepting the answer for the moment. Not that Harry blamed her, of course. She was right; he'd never had a scar burning leave him feeling as drained as the results of his encounter with Holly, and it showed. He hadn't even tried to stay awake during History of Magic that morning. Besides, he had been blatantly distracted all day long, but what could he tell Hermione and Ron? That he'd been exchanging thoughts all day with his long-lost cousin, who just happened to be somewhere in Hogwarts at that very moment, and could apparently read his mind? Oh, that was a great story. Besides, he had promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't say a word.  
  
"Hiya, Harry." Neville sat down next to Harry. "How're you feeling?"  
  
"Fine, Neville. Thanks," Harry replied absently.  
  
"Alright then," he said, not sounding terribly assured, before looking across the table at Hermione. "Prefect meeting is at 7:00, right?"  
  
"I'll meet you in the common room at 6:50," Hermione said casually.  
  
Harry did a double take. "Neville? You're... you're a prefect? Wow, I mean, how come I didn't know? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Well, Harry," Hermione assumed her lecture mode, "If you had been healthy the past two days, you would have known by now. Neville has been in both of your classes today, but you slept through History of Magic, and were completely distracted in Transfiguration."  
  
"My goodness, I'm sorry Neville. Congratulations. Really."  
  
Neville, for his part, blushed furiously. "I had asked Hermione not to go telling everyone. Not really comfortable with it yet, I suppose. I didn't really want it. I sure didn't bloody expect it. Now, I don't know what to do with it." He turned slightly, and Harry could see the shiny prefect badge perched on the breast of his robes, mostly hidden underneath his folded arms. "Dumbledore's letter said he wanted me as prefect because I'm fair, and level headed. Fair, well, I like to think I am, but there are dozens of people more level-headed than me!" He swallowed nervously. "You should have seen Malfoy in the first meeting last night. He stared at me like a cat who had just found a new mouse."  
  
"Neville," Hermione sighed. "You're going to be just fine. You have just as much authority as Malfoy, and you're a hundred times better than he is. Trust me. You just need to build up your confidence."  
  
Neville's face was pinched, but he nodded resolutely. "I'd better go start on my transfiguration homework." He stood, but paused. "Will you be along to help me later, Hermione?"  
  
"Of course, Neville. I told you I would." She smiled reassuringly at him. He seemed to relax some, and walked away towards the doors. Hermione was just about to go back to eating her pudding when she caught Ron's expression out of the corner of her eye. "Ron, what's gotten into you?"  
  
Ron seemed to not be getting quite enough air just then, and his ears were burning bright red. "Nothing," he choked, "absolutely nothing."  
  
"Alright then, but don't you go getting sick on us too." She rolled her eyes. "Heaven forbid the quidditch team loses you before you even try out."  
  
This seemed to do nothing to calm Ron down.  
  
Hermione turned back to Harry, completely ignoring Ron again, which seemed to only make Ron more frustrated. "And Harry, the team can't afford to lose you either. You still look off-colour to me. Perhaps you should go back to Madam Pomfrey and get a potion or something. Some Pepperup Potion might do the trick."  
  
Harry didn't catch everything Hermione said, for at that moment, a faint voice echoed in the back of his head, reminding him that he had a meeting to attend shortly. "Oh, yes. You're right Hermione," he said distractedly. "Actually, I was going to go back up anyway. Madam Pomfrey's orders. She wanted to check me over one more time. In fact," he looked around the hall, "I should probably be going now."  
  
"But Harry! You haven't eaten!" Hermione protested.  
  
Harry picked himself out of his seat. "I'm not hungry anyway. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be able to help. Besides," he threw Ron a sympathetic glance, "I think Ron's in worse shape than I am right now."  
  
This distracted Hermione just long enough for Harry to escape. He didn't want to be late. He'd been waiting for this all day.  
  
Harry pushed his way past knots of students leaving the Great Hall, returning to their dormitories for the evening, or to the library. He cringed when he thought of this. The homework was already beginning to pile up, a mere two days into the school year, in anticipation of O.W.L.'s. Hermione had collected the previous day's work for him, and had seemed mildly apologetic when she gave it to him, as thought she almost felt that his rest and recovery were more important than the homework, but not quite. He would get to it soon enough, but not now. Now, there were other, more pressing things to think about.  
  
He turned the corner into the corridor to Dumbledore's office, quickening his pace with every stride. He could just faintly feel the slight, pleasant buzz in the back of his mind, telling him that Holly was already there. He arrived in front of the gargoyle and breathlessly blurted, "Fizzing Whizbee!" The gargoyle leapt aside, and Harry raced up the stairs, not waiting for them to carry him along. He was just reaching for the brass knocker when a friendly thought greeted him.  
  
/You're late./ He could almost hear the amusement.  
  
"Come right in, Harry," Dumbledore's voice sounded from the far side of the door.  
  
The door swung open smoothly, and Harry poked his head into the office. "Professor Dumbledore, sir?"  
  
The headmaster was sitting behind his desk, propping his chin on his hands, eyes twinkling as always from over the tops of his spectacles. "Please, Harry, have a seat."  
  
Harry let himself the rest of the way into the office, and saw that Holly was not the only other occupant in the room aside from Dumbledore. "Sirius!"  
  
His godfather stood and strode over to him, grinning. Sirius leaned down slightly and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, examining his face critically. "You're still too pale. Did you eat?"  
  
"I'm always pale." Harry could feel his cheeks warming a bit in embarrassment. Over Sirius's shoulder, he could see Holly smirking at him.  
  
"No, Sirius, he didn't eat." She chuckled. "He's been too jumpy all day."  
  
"You've been no better," Lupin said to Holly, letting himself into the office and shutting the door behind him. "Except when you fell asleep in the middle of charms practice, you haven't sat still once. Sorry I'm late, Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"Not a problem, not at all," Dumbledore indicated a seat for him. "We haven't even started yet."  
  
Harry ducked out from his godfather's examination and eased his way around into a chair next to Holly's. Sirius blew out a breath in exasperation, and sufficed with leaning against the back of Harry's chair.  
  
Dumbledore watched them all carefully as they settled in, then finally rested his hands flat on the desk in front of him. "I must say, this is quite a sight. This is also quite a complication, if I may say."  
  
"Complication, sir?" Harry ventured.  
  
"Yes, Harry. I'm not exactly sure where to begin, to be honest."  
  
Holly spoke up. "You could start at the beginning," she said critically. "You've kept him in the dark for far too long, and it's high time he got the whole story."  
  
Harry stared at his cousin and felt his jaw drop of its own accord. Sure, that's what he'd been thinking, but he would never have spoken like that to Dumbledore. Well, then again, maybe he would have. Turning back to Dumbledore, Harry wondered how the headmaster would respond to that. To his surprise, Dumbledore merely nodded.  
  
"You're quite right, Holly. Quite right." He turned back to Harry and folded his hands once again beneath his chin. "Harry, earlier this summer, I attempted to explain what I could to you about your family history, about why Voldemort was trying to get to you initially. I regretted at the time that I was unable to give you the whole story, as I, myself, did not have it. Now, I believe I may be able to supply a much more complete rendition."  
  
Harry felt Sirius's hand on his shoulder, and sat, stone-faced, as Dumbledore launched into a detailed explanation of the background behind his story, of his grandfather's overseas romance, the identity of the spy, the need to remain hidden. Throughout the monologue, he noticed Holly nodding slowly, as though hearing Dumbledore explain the whole thing only served to confirm it again in her own mind. Harry felt a twinge of pain race through her, mirroring his own, as Dumbledore recounted the events of the night his parents died. Sirius's hand squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter, reassuring him.  
  
When Dumbledore told of Holly's encounter with the Death Eaters and her narrow escape from the Ministry, Harry found his jaw dropping in disbelief. He turned to Holly, who looked at him out the corner of her eye, straight- faced, and nodded once. When Dumbledore finally stopped speaking, it was Holly who broke the silence first.  
  
"Is it only that you meant to keep us apart because you were afraid the Mind Touch would bleed over to Voldemort?"  
  
Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. "That was certainly a large part of it, Holly, although we had also intended to prevent you two from injuring yourselves."  
  
Something in Dumbledore's voice caused a warning light to go off in Harry's mind, and he was sure Holly felt it too. They exchanged a cautious glance, and Harry realized it was as though he could feel Dumbledore hiding something, as though he had a partial view into the man's mind. It was strange, and very empowering.  
  
"Sir," she went on, "the first time, I knew you weren't telling me everything, because you said so." She swallowed, as though not wanting to call the headmaster on how he was being not forthcoming. "You're still..."  
  
"Hiding something. Yes, Holly, I am." He sighed. "I would also ask you not to dig further for this answer."  
  
"Why not?" she asked, irritation showing plainly.  
  
"There's no safety in ignorance. Isn't that what your letter said earlier this summer?" Harry seconded. He felt a flash of approval from Holly, encouraging him.  
  
"I did say that, didn't I?" Dumbledore said as he stroked his beard thoughtfully, watching Harry intently.  
  
"Yes, you did," Harry snapped back, pushed on by Holly's silent support. "I thought you were finally going to explain it all, and you do, to a point, only to openly admit that you aren't telling us everything. Why?"  
  
This time, it was Lupin who answered. "Sometimes, the best way to protect a person is by keeping something dangerous away from them."  
  
"What if I'm tired of being protected?" Harry asked. "And in what way dangerous?"  
  
"If this is about the Mind Touch," Holly growled, "then there's not much you can do, because Harry's got it now, and you can't take that from him. He's going to be trained to use it, and once he's trained, it can't be dangerous.  
  
Behind them, Sirius chuckled. "I would never want to get into a debate with the two of you. You argue like a tag-team."  
  
"Fred and George Weasley are worse," Harry said fervently. He turned back to Dumbledore. "So, why is this big secret so dangerous? How could knowing about something hurt?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "There are times when mere knowledge is the most dangerous thing, Harry."  
  
"That makes a lot of sense," Holly smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're just not going to tell us, no matter what we say, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't, Holly," Dumbledore sighed. "I'm sorry that you even managed to discover that I was hiding something. It would have been easier on you not to have suspected anything at all."  
  
"EASY?!" Holly and Harry yelled at once.  
  
"I've been through hell in the past month, and you're worried about making things easy by hiding stuff from me?" Holly shot at him.  
  
Harry carried on with his own rant. "My parents are dead, Voldemort is after me, AGAIN, and you've been playing me like a puppet for years! Don't talk to me about easy!"  
  
Dumbledore tipped his head forward in silent contemplation. When he finally looked back up, his face was stone. "I never said easy. I said easier. These are dangerous times, and I fear that no matter what is done to prevent certain events from transpiring. When all is said and done, the both of you will be at the epicenter of some of the worst of it. It is only my hope to sway the turnout for the better. What I can not emphasize strongly enough is the fact that protecting you is not merely for your own good. You are both now part of a larger fight."  
  
"Then why are we holed up here, being coddled like some delicate little flowers that might break in a hard wind?" Holly cut in sharply. "Why aren't we fighting then, if this is such an important thing, and we're already a part of it?"  
  
"First of all," Lupin clapped Holly on the shoulder, "You're not trained in the basic arts of wizarding and witchcraft. That's my job. You'll be getting tutorials from the professors here, but I'll be getting you up to snuff."  
  
"Second," Sirius ruffled Harry's hair, "you're still underage. Don't look at me like that, Harry. I know what you're capable of, and I know you can handle it, but you're still in school, and for now, we need you here."  
  
Harry vainly tried to flatten his ruffled hair.  
  
"Third," Holly filled in, "You've got to train Harry to use the Mind Touch, and I've got to learn about it too, so that way we can use it to fight. Right?"  
  
Dumbledore's hard expression fell slightly. "Not exactly."  
  
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Holly challenged.  
  
"I mean that we shall be training Harry to use it, to control it, as we shall also be working with you, but not to fight." Dumbledore's eyes were sharp as he gazed over his spectacles at Holly's infuriated expression. "Please hear me out before you condemn this decision. The Mind Touch is far more complex than just the simple ability to read minds, as you might have already begun to suspect, Holly, and as I told Harry earlier this summer. The power to alter other people's perceptions and memories, to create thoughts that feel like their own but aren't... those can be used for many different purposes. You can see why Voldemort would desire such power."  
  
"Absolute control," Lupin summarized the thought, "on a much greater scale than the Imperious Curse."  
  
"That... that could be used for some terrible Dark Magic," Harry whispered, shrinking into his chair slightly.  
  
"Yes, it could," Dumbledore said simply.  
  
"Wait," Holly interrupted. "Mr. Ollivander, back at the wand shop, he said something like that. He said that the power my family has, and I assume he meant the Mind Touch, has done great things, both terrible and good. Professor Dumbledore, what was he talking about? What has the Mind Touch done in the past?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at her with sad eyes. "We don't have all of those answers yet, Holly. An effort is being made to recover the history behind this ability, but it is far from complete."  
  
"What do you know so far?" she asked, her voice hard.  
  
"Not very much, I'm afraid." Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him.  
  
"Well," Harry snapped, "Why don't you tell her what you do know, instead of keeping her in the dark like you did with me? I'd like to know too, seeing as I'm now stuck with this bloody talent as well. If it's all the same, I'd just as soon get rid of it."  
  
/You and me both, Harry/ whispered in the back of his mind.  
  
/You said it, Holly/ he agreed, then reconsidered. /I do like being able to hear you though./  
  
She smiled at him in understanding, then turned back to Dumbledore, her glare once again icy. "Well?"  
  
"What I can tell you, and essentially all that we know for certain, is that the Mind Touch has changed the course of the wizarding world three times, and we suspect that they were all related incidents. We're trying to prevent a fourth such incident."  
  
"And how do you propose to do that?" Holly asked suspiciously.  
  
"By teaching you both, first and foremost, to turn this ability off."  
  
"What?" Harry jumped in his seat.  
  
Holly went a bit further and actually heaved herself from the chair. "No! That's not right! Harry needs to learn to use this, as a weapon if needed. It might save him from Voldemort someday!"  
  
"Holly," Lupin made a move to get up from his chair, "please calm down."  
  
"Why the hell should I calm down? If Harry is the high-profile target you claim he is, then why shouldn't he have every weapon at his disposal?"  
  
"Because," Dumbledore said softly, "if Harry can not turn this ability off, then it is far more likely to be used as a weapon against him, than as an effective defense for him."  
  
Holly stared at him, stunned silent, then slowly sank back into her chair. "Oh."  
  
"It would also not stop at Harry. You do understand this."  
  
She nodded sullenly.  
  
"There are still things we have to protect the two of you which make the chances of Voldemort reaching you quite slim, but it is still an ever- present threat." Dumbledore sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped a bit. "This is why I am going to ask you to do one more thing for me in order to safeguard the two of you."  
  
"Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like this?" Harry asked.  
  
/Because you probably won't./ came a silent answer.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head, then looked slowly from Harry to Holly. "I am going to ask you to allow me to partially block your bond."  
  
Harry tried to jump out of his seat, but Sirius's hand held him firmly in place. Holly merely sat there, eyes blazing fury. "No," she said.  
  
"It is up to you, of course, but consider this. It would be impossible to block the bond entirely, and I could never completely break it, so the connection you feel will not disappear. However, if I do not block it at all, and you have not allowed yourselves time to properly train this ability, you run the risk of injuring each other unintentionally."  
  
Some of the fire faded from Holly's eyes, but she pressed further. "What else?"  
  
"Also," Dumbledore continued, "you significantly increase the probability that Voldemort will find either of you, and if he finds one of you, he will find the other."  
  
Holly didn't need to ask for clarification on that point.  
  
/That's probably a bad thing, wouldn't you say?/ Harry's thoughts echoed in her mind, but he sounded bitter about the concession.  
  
/I suppose so, but... / Holly searched Dumbledore's face questioningly. "How would you do it? Block the bond that is?"  
  
"The same way your grandmother shielded you all those years ago." He pointed at her neck. "That pendant you wear, Holly, had a very strong magical shield on it. That is why you and Harry were in the same building for several hours without the bond fully manifesting itself. When your hands touched, it broke through that shield. I would simply be putting it back in place. Can you agree to that?"  
  
Harry and Holly looked at each other.  
  
/What do you think?/ Holly asked.  
  
Harry twisted his lip. /I think he's not telling us everything, but he is telling the truth./  
  
/I know you trust him, and I feel strongly that he believes this is the best way to protect us, but the idea of being protected still bothers me./  
  
/I know exactly what you mean./ Harry rolled his eyes. /And I've been putting up with this from him for years./  
  
/Ha! If you want to hear about "overprotective," let me tell you about my father sometime. He was worse, and a Muggle./  
  
/I'll match you story for story with my Uncle Vernon./ He smirked.  
  
/You're on./ Holly chuckled.  
  
"I'm glad you two are enjoying your private conference here, but I would like to know your decision sometime tonight," Dumbledore said softly.  
  
Harry and Holly both grinned sheepishly. "Yes sir," they said at the same time.  
  
They looked back at each other again, but then Holly closed her eyes and reached under her collar to pull out the pendant. The silver lion shone in her hand, and Harry leaned in closer to see it. /A lion?/ Harry asked.  
  
/Our grandfather gave it to my grandmother a long time ago, then my grandmother gave it to me before she disappeared./ Her fingers traced the words etched in the back of the metal. /It's engraved. I'll show it to you, but we really do need to give him an answer first./ She inclined her head towards Dumbledore.  
  
/Well./ Harry mused, /I could feel you even before we broke through the shielding charm, and even if he puts it back, it's not permanent, as we proved./ He bit his lower lip. /Voldemort killed our parents, and he's got the potential to kill many more people... /  
  
/ ...and the last thing we should do is give him any more chances of killing anyone else./ Her eyes bit fiercely into Harry's. /While I live and breathe, I won't let him take you. Over my dead body./  
  
/Don't talk like that, but I know what you mean./ He sighed. /So, we agree?/  
  
Holly nodded her head once sharply, then answered for both of them. "Okay, we'll do it, on one condition. Let us have a few minutes to ourselves to talk first. We've missed fifteen years. Give us at least that many minutes to catch up."  
  
"Holly, you will both have many future opportunities to speak with each other..." Dumbledore started to say, only to be cut off by Holly.  
  
"No. NOW." Her voice left no room for question. "Either that, or not at all. Or did you simply assume we'd agree anyway?"  
  
The headmaster sighed. "You're right." He pulled out his golden watch. "The prefect meeting begins in forty-five minutes. I must attend tonight, and to be safe, it may take me up to ten minutes to properly perform the charm."  
  
"We understand," Harry conceded. "Just over a half hour then?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded to him and slowly pulled himself out of his chair. "We shall return in a half hour." His face finally softened into a smile. He opened his mouth to speak again, but hesitated. When he finally did speak, it appeared as though he had meant to say something else, but had changed his mind. "I'm glad for you. Both of you. It is good to see two Potters in one room again. You both carry the name very well."  
  
He pulled out his wand and with a flick of his wrist, a plate of sandwiches and biscuits appeared along with a flagon of pumpkin juice. "It would also be good to see that neither of you end up in the hospital wing because you passed from not eating."  
  
Harry flushed with embarrassment, hand subconsciously covering the spot on his arm which he imagined was still sore from the needle. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Holly making a similar gesture. "Yes sir," he said.  
  
Dumbledore ushered Sirius and Remus out first, Sirius throwing back a fond glance at Harry and Remus winking at Holly, then shut the door behind all three of them, leaving Harry and Holly alone in the office.  
  
"A half hour. That's not much time to catch up on fifteen years," Holly grumbled.  
  
"Yeah, but it's not as if we won't see each other," Harry pointed out.  
  
"True. It's a spell, not a lobotomy."  
  
Harry looked at her questioningly, to which Holly replied with a sheepish grin, "Never mind. Before they come back, do you have any idea what Dumbledore was talking about? With the Mind Touch having altered the course of wizard history? I don't know anything about this stuff."  
  
"I'm as lost as you are, I think." Harry scratched his chin. "I've never heard anything about it in History of Magic class. I don't think Professor Bimms would ever talk about something that interesting. In fact, I'd never heard about it until this summer."  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, neither had I, and I've had it my entire life." She smirked at herself. "Makes it sound like some sort of strange disease."  
  
Pantomiming the act of writing something on a clipboard, she adopted an analytical pose. "Let's see here. Voices inside you head? Check. Prophetic dreams of lost relatives? Check. Sudden jump into an imaginary world of magic, witches, and wizards? Check." She glanced up at Harry, who was stifling a chuckle. "Prognosis: Either it's the Mind Touch, or I'm schizophrenic."  
  
Harry sobered up a bit. "Given the choice, it's got to be the Mind Touch. I'd like to think that if I were imagining a whole world, it would be a bit more pleasant that this. At least, either way, I'm not completely alone anymore, whether it's all in my mind or not."  
  
Holly smiled enigmatically. "Just because something's all in your mind doesn't mean it's not real."  
  
Harry shook his head in a cross between amusement and disbelief. "You must have driven people crazy when you were younger."  
  
"I still do," she winked.  
  
"I wonder what would happen if we turned you loose on Snape," Harry mused.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Never mind, I'm sure you'll meet that greasy git soon enough. Back to business, right?" Holly nodded, and Harry continued to speak. "You said you'd met Mr. Ollivander?"  
  
"Yes, when I went to get my wand. Creepy chap."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll say he is. You said he told you that the Mind Touch had been used for good things and terrible things. Did he say anything else about it?"  
  
"No, completely vague on the topic. Why?"  
  
Harry leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "He said something like that about Voldemort... and me. He said he could expect great things from me because Voldemort had done great things, terrible things, but great, and we have wands with the same core. I wonder if it has anything to do with what he told you."  
  
"Who knows." Holly leaned forward in imitation of Harry. "It sounds like something similar. He used the same phrasing almost?" Harry nodded. Holly twisted her lip in concentration. "That bloke knows more than he lets on, I'm sure of it."  
  
"Did you pick his brain?" Harry asked playfully, but Holly frowned at him.  
  
"No, I didn't, and that's the strange thing. I couldn't. I can usually read people better if I look at their eyes, somewhat like looking right into their minds. Trying to look through Ollivander's eyes was like trying to see through concrete. He knew my name though, even though he had never met me. He knew Bram too."  
  
"Bram?" Harry sat bolt upright. "The raven that talks?"  
  
Holly also jumped in her chair. "Wait, you know her too? How?"  
  
"Bram paid me a visit over the summer, while I was still at my aunt and uncle's house." Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny black feather. "She left me this, and I've been keeping it for luck."  
  
Holly looked as though she barely heard him. Instead of responding, she reached into her robes and pulled out her own wand, then stared back and forth between it and the feather in Harry's hand.  
  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, alarmed by Holly's inexplicable behavior.  
  
"That's one of Bram's feathers?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yes, I just told you so. Why?"  
  
"Nothing, really. I just think it's strange," she twiddled her wand in her hands, staring off at the floor beyond it, wondering where Bram was, why Harry had a feather, and if she'd ever make sense of any of this.  
  
"May I see that?" Harry asked suddenly, pointing to her wand as though recognizing something.  
  
"Sure, I suppose." Holly leaned across, holding out the wand.  
  
Harry took the wand and held it near the feather. "The feather is tingling... a bit warm. This is strange." He pocketed the feather, fumbled through his robes, and pulled out what looked to be a nearly identical wand to Holly's. "Wow," he whispered, admiring them side by side. "Eleven inches, like mine. What's it made of? Mine's made of holly," he eyed her strangely, "and phoenix feather."  
  
"Blackthorn, actually. It's blackthorn and raven feather. One of Bram's feathers. That's probably why your feather tingled in your hand."  
  
"Raven feather in a wand?" Harry asked incredulously. "But they're not magical..." he hesitated. "Are they?"  
  
Holly flashed a half-grin at him. "Bram is no ordinary raven."  
  
Harry was about to ask what she meant when a soft trill sounded from the far side of the office. Fawkes was weaving back and forth on his perch, switching from leg to leg, bobbing his head.  
  
"Oh yeah!" Holly smiled. "And Fawkes knew her too!"  
  
Harry slowly handed Holly's wand back to her, then sat still for a moment, trying to let the new information sift through his brain. Holly knows Fawkes. Fawkes knows Bram. Bram knows Ollivander. Ollivander knew Holly's name. Ollivander knew a lot more than that, it also seemed. "It's strange," he mused, trying to distract himself from the vortex of random thoughts, "I almost expected us to have nearly the same wand. They look alike, but underneath it all, they're really quite different, aren't they?"  
  
"Perhaps they are. I'll have to look up the symbolism of blackthorn and holly more closely, but I can tell you this. Bram is apparently part phoenix."  
  
"That's... that's... you're kidding."  
  
Fawkes trilled again, soft music filling the air, confirming Holly's story.  
  
Holly shook her head. "Ollivander told me that a long time ago, a raven and a phoenix, well, 'hooked up,' for lack of better terms. Apparently, there are ravens with phoenix magic in them, and Bram is one of those. It makes sense, because I've been wondering just how old Bram actually is."  
  
Harry nodded dumbly. "I wish Hermione was here," he mumbled.  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
Harry started to say, "Don't you know?" but realized that even though he felt strangely as though he had known the woman sitting next to him all his life, he hadn't. "Hermione is one of my best friends, and probably one of the most clever people I've ever met. She... wait a minute. If anyone can figure this out, it's Hermione!"  
  
"Figure what out, specifically?"  
  
"All the stuff they're trying to keep from us!" Harry said excitedly. "Hermione is brilliant. She's been going through this book Mrs. Figg gave me, it belonged to Voldemort, and something in that book didn't match common knowledge. She found something about the Mind Touch. One of the founders, Ravenclaw, might have had it! I wasn't even thinking about... I'll bet Hermione can even... oh. Damn, I can't."  
  
"Can't what?"  
  
"Tell Hermione about any of this. I swore to Dumbledore I wouldn't tell her about you." He glanced at her sullenly. "He said it was a risk."  
  
"More secrets," Holly sighed. "More cover-ups. I don't like this."  
  
"Neither do I, but do we have much of a choice?"  
  
"Perhaps we do. Dumbledore said not to tell your friends about me. However, that doesn't mean you can't ask her for help indirectly." She winked.  
  
"You know, Hermione is always hunting for some new academic interest." Harry grinned broadly. "I'm sure I can do something. I'll have to look through that book myself, too. In fact..."  
  
"What?" She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I must have really done some damage to my brain or something. I can't believe I didn't notice this." He smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead at the revelation. "Ravenclaw might have had the Mind Touch. Hell, that might even be one of the history-altering things Dumbledore was talking about! Slytherin; she used it to force Salazar Slytherin out of the school, at least, that's what we think." Harry's voice raised a pitch, but the frenzied overtones dropped again rapidly. He made a fist and pounded it into the arm of his chair. "But what good does that do us? Even if we figure out what those three changes in the course of wizarding history were, it's not the specific thing Dumbledore is hiding, is it? This doesn't get us any closer to figuring out what that is, and just as strangely, why it's so important that they hide it to protect us."  
  
"Yes, but it's a clue," Holly said in a comforting voice. "We just need to keep looking for clues. I wish I could just read it from Dumbledore's mind, but I get the impression I wouldn't be able to."  
  
"I know what you mean." Harry sighed deeply. "Did he say anything? Anything at all that had to do with the Mind Touch?"  
  
"Only what he's told the both of us. It was used by my grandmother to spy during the war, and then..." she blinked. "The night Voldemort went after you. Do you think that could be it? Those are the three incidents?"  
  
"It makes sense... You never think of history as having anything to do with you in such a direct way, but with this, it looks like it's personal." Harry said softly, but his voice was tight. "But it still doesn't tell us what he's hiding, so add those to the list of possible clues I'll slip to Hermione. Whatever this mystery thing is, it feels like it's something..."  
  
"...that would appear utterly insignificant were it not for the fact that Dumbledore is convinced it could kill us," Holly said flatly. "How comforting."  
  
"Couldn't have said it better myself."  
  
They both fell silent for a minute, not really thinking, slightly overwhelmed by everything.  
  
"It's too much to think about all at once," Harry mumbled, then turned his head to look at Holly. "What about that necklace? You said you'd show it to me?"  
  
Holly's shoulders relaxed. "Sure. Come over here."  
  
Harry scooted over and sat on the arm of Holly's chair as she reached into the neckline of her robes and pulled out the pendant, then held it out.  
  
Harry took it delicately in his hands, traced over the lion's head. "I suppose my grandfather was a Gryffindor, too."  
  
"Probably. The Sorting Hat said I'd had a long line of relatives in Gryffindor house." Before Harry could ask, she pointed at the pendant still lying in his hand. "Flip it over. It's engraved."  
  
Harry nodded, turned the pendant over in his hand, and leaned close to read it aloud in the soft light of the office. "To Jan, my love forever, Harry Potter." He looked back up slowly. "I was named after him," he said quietly. "That feels weird, to see my name there like that."  
  
Holly reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. If this makes it seem even more strange, I've worn that pendant since I was five years old, and I never had a clue who you were. People mistook me for you from a distance, and I thought, for some insane reason, that they were mistaking me for my grandfather, even though rationally I knew he would have to have been quite old by now."  
  
She reached up and plucked the pendant gently out of his hand and laid it against her tunic. "I took my last name from that pendant. Aside from my father's name, which I had refused to keep, it was the only surname I knew in my family line."  
  
"And that's why you go by 'Potter'?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
Harry sighed and leaned back against the chair, eyes closed, his arm brushing lightly against Holly's shoulder, letting his mind drift again. It was so peaceful, so comfortable, to have a real family member in the same room, but he knew it couldn't last. Nothing good in his life ever did last. Pushing back the thought, he let a different thought take its place. It was strange that this person, who had been nothing but a face in a dream a few weeks before, was now flesh and blood, sitting next to him. Even more strange was the fact that it felt perfectly natural in that dream to reach out and touch the hand of her image on the far side of the mirror. Just as it had felt perfectly natural to reach for her when the dream and reality collided. Even if he'd known what would happen next, he doubted that he could have resisted.  
  
/I don't think I could have stopped either/ came the voice in the back of his mind.  
  
Harry opened his eyes and peered down into Holly's. /That was pretty strange, wasn't it?/  
  
Holly nodded. /You know, it was worth it though. At least it was to me./  
  
/I know what you mean. Right before we blacked out, if you felt what I felt, that was just phenomenal./  
  
/Yeah,/ she chuckled softly. /It was as if I was a live electrical wire. Unfortunately, neither of us were quite ready to handle that kind of voltage./  
  
Harry hesitated. /Do you think... it would happen the same way? If we... tried that again?/  
  
Holly looked at him critically. /No, because I brushed against your hand when I gave you the pendant and nothing really happened. We've already activated the bond./  
  
Harry grinned. /Are you thinking what I'm thinking?/  
  
This time, Holly laughed heartily aloud. /Isn't that what we've been doing all along?/  
  
Harry joined her laughter, but they both quieted quickly, becoming somber, almost nervous. It was like a child daring to touch an electric fence after receiving one solid jolt. This time, however, they were assuming the wire had been grounded. Harry held up his right hand and brought it up to meet the palm of Holly's left hand.  
  
With a scant few centimeters separating the palms of their hands, they could feel a tingly warmth building in the gap. This time, however, there was no blurring of vision, no rushing sounds in their ears. It felt more that a soothing blanket of energy had started spreading up their arms, raising hairs along the way, but it was by no means unpleasant. Harry felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and brought his eyes up to meet Holly's to find that she was also smiling. "Wicked," he breathed.  
  
They finally bridged the last centimeter, feeling the electric sensation climb past their arms and completely engulf them, but this time, it didn't overwhelm them. Green eyes met brown, and Harry found that he wasn't quite sure where his mind ended and Holly's began. In a rush, he learned more things about her than he thought he knew about himself. Wooden beams and copper pots from the kitchen of her childhood home, her crush on a boy named Jonathan when she had been twelve, the look on her grandmother's face when she had said goodbye, her intense dislike for her father and bitter regret over his passing, the first time she had spoken to a snake, and the nightmares of her mother's death. All these flooded through Harry like the warm sting of driving monsoon rains. Likewise, he was sure she was learning about him in the same way. He hadn't thought closeness like this to another human being was possible.  
  
Suddenly, another vision overrode the rest. He wasn't sure if he saw it in Holly's eyes, in his own, or completely in the confines of his mind, but suddenly, blood-red eyes were staring back into his own, piercing him. His scar started to burn, causing his eyes to water, and he whipped his hand away from Holly's in reflex and pressed it to his scar.  
  
A sharp thud informed him that he had landed on the floor next to the chair. As the pain subsided, he felt a hand gripping his arm.  
  
"Harry? Are you ok?" Holly's voice was breathless and slightly pained.  
  
Harry rolled onto his back, squinting against the remnants of the pain in his forehead, and looked up. "I'm fine," he said, pushing himself into a seated position. "What happened?"  
  
"You know as well as I do." She was rubbing her own forehead and temple as though trying to ward off a migraine, and looking mildly dazed as though that was exactly what she had. "That was Voldemort."  
  
Harry nodded bitterly. What a way to ruin a family reunion. He shoved that thought aside as a twinge of concern caught him. He reached up to touch Holly's hand, which was still rubbing furiously at her head. "Are you ok?"  
  
"I'm fine," she snapped. "It's just another damned headache."  
  
As Harry watched her, understanding dawned on him. She had felt every bit of it, the pain he'd always associated with his scar. He glanced up briefly at her unmarred forehead, chiding himself for thinking something so silly. Of course he was the only one stuck with that peculiar mark, but for somebody else, anybody else, to have felt the pain, to understand what it was like for him when Voldemort's presence touched him...  
  
The instant he thought that he liked for someone to know how it felt, to share such pain, he mentally slapped himself for thinking such a terrible thing. Nobody else should have to feel it. It was bad enough for him, but now, for someone else to be dragged into it, it wasn't right. With a sinking heart, he realized that Dumbledore was right. They needed to block the bond, if it wasn't already too late.  
  
"Let's not tell them this happened," Harry said softly.  
  
Holly looked at him as her hand finally dropped away from her face. "Agreed." She held out her hand. "Want a hand up?"  
  
She hauled him to his feet, and they stood for a moment, not making eye contact, but just quietly taking in each other's presence, hands still clasped.  
  
"I should probably go get Dumbledore," Holly said.  
  
Harry nodded. He didn't like it, but they needed to. Holly made to drop his hand, but Harry didn't let go. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug so sudden that it took Holly several seconds to return it. They stood still, arms wrapped securely around each other's shoulders, as though it could force the whole world away.  
  
They finally released each other at the same time. As Harry readjusted his glasses on his face, he realized they'd been fogged with tears. The embrace reminded him of when Mrs. Weasley had hugged him, like a mother, the first time he'd really felt the kind of affection most people are fortunate enough to get from their families. He quickly turned to the side, removed his glasses, and wiped his face on his sleeve.  
  
"Too late, I already saw you," she teased.  
  
Harry replaced his glasses, and saw, to his relief, that Holly was also somewhat teary-eyed. "Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically.  
  
"Anytime. Now," she sighed, "I'll go get Dumbledore."  
  
As Holly stuck her head out the door and called for the headmaster, Harry wondered to himself how on earth, with everything that had just happened, he was going to be able to handle the stack of homework waiting for him that night. Or quidditch. Or his two very inquisitive friends who would be waiting for him when he returned to the Gryffindor common room that night.  
  
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A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience! I've been working hard on both Eclipse and TPL. Thank you also for continuing to read this story, even though OotP has already come out.  
  
Just to whet your appetites for the next chapter, we'll be going to Care of Magical Creatures class. This term, they'll be studying Magical Ornithology. Look it up! The trio will get a chance to talk to Hagrid. The Gryffindors are still stuck with the Slytherins. Harry will begin prodding Hermione with clues. Quidditch season is coming up fast too. Polish up your broomsticks and get ready to play! 


End file.
